Darker than the Black City
by Doxx
Summary: A dark m!Cousland story, set after DA:A. A rather angry Aedan cousland tracks down Zevran, his lost lover. M/M, non-con, violence, angst and smut. Spoilers for Awakening plotline, and if you had a relationship with Zevran.
1. Chapter 1

_**A darker m!Cousland story, set after DA:A. A rather angry Aedan cousland tracks down Zevran, his lost lover. M/M, non-con, violence. Spoilers for Awakening plotline, and for the ending when you complete Awakened if you had a relationship with Zevran in Origins. Bioware owns the characters and setting. **_

_**25/05/10 - reformatted to make it easier to read.**_

Antiva was strange to him, too hot and dry, the language too quick to follow, nevermind learn. He'd had to purchase two guides, the first having run off with the couple of coins he'd given in advance. His current guide however, seemed accepting of the months of trudging round the towns and cities, asking the same questions over and over, and did so under the agreement that payment would come after they found their quarry, and not before. The guide, some unpronounceable name he mangled so often they had both agreed on Jik for short, did not seem to mind his stern employer, even though he was focused to the point of obsessive. He did as he was asked without complaint, but in secret he prayed for the safety of this elf that the nobleman was so desperately seeking. He did not think anyone would survive Aedan's wrath should they find 'Zevran' in anything less than one piece, and suspected that even his faithful service would not protect him, should Aedan lose control of the quick temper he had so far managed to master. Jik had noted that lately, with increasing concern, that Aedan was finding it harder to rein in the anger that burned behind his eyes. He had not cared to find out who this elf was, or why Aedan Cousland was so intent on finding him, figuring on leaving the questions unanswered rather that risk inciting Aedan into a fit of rage. Aedan, when he did speak of the object of their quest, seemed torn, referring to Zevran both in soft caring tones, as well as venomous resentment.

Jik had come to learn Aedan's moods, and could feel the tension start to build. there had been incidents in their past miles, where bottles and tables had been smashed, under no more provocation than someone getting too close at the wrong time. To give his employer some space, and to ensure that he himself was out of harm's way, Jik had suggested that Aedan take a day to rest, as they had been traveling and searching for several days without a break. He had left him at the inn while he would go and make enquiries, gently explaining that people would be more forthcoming if there was not a foreigner standing over them. Aedan, at a loss to response, had grudgingly agreed.

He knew his temper was wearing thin, frustration and desperation twisting in his mind constantly, draining his patience and tolerance.

The trail they followed had not grown cold, nothing was cold in this accursed land. The air, the ale, even the nights held a stifling heat he could not get used to. No, the trail had simply never been easy to follow. Sightings of someone who might have been an elf with black tattoos, vague recollections of a name that sounded a bit like 'Zevran'... these few glimmers of hope were all that kept him going. Aedan did not like to admit to himself the possibility that Zevran had fallen foul of his past employers, or worse, that the assassin did not wish to be found, but these doubts had plagued him ever since he had found Zevran missing.

* * *

He'd come back from being paraded around as the hero of Ferelden, even though it was Alistair who had made the final sacrifice. He talked with his companions, each free now the blight was over. He resented them, begrudged them that they were not bound by darkspawn blood as he was. That night, when he desperately needed a friend, someone who was not already making plans to scatter across the whole of Thedas, Zevran was not there. A pair of gloves lay on his pillow, neatly folded, Dalish, and heartbreaking.

In the morning, already packed and ready to go, he announced his plans to chase after the assassin.

Anora, still seething over her father's execution, asked him to reconsider, and instead travel to Highever to rebuilt the grey warden order. He had refused, partly because he was through with the overbearing weight of duty, partly because he had no desire to be sent back to the scene of his family's massacre, but mostly because he wanted Zevran, needed Zevran. The queen had pressed the offer, and had made it clear that he was to be given no choice. She dredged up Alistair's name, wondering aloud how he could disrespect his fellow warden so, the wicked gleam in her eyes making it clear that this was his punishment for Loghain's death. He was forced to accept, and then thank her as the collected noble audience applauded.

He left for Virgil's Keep, alone save for a grey warden hopeful shadowing his steps, and his own churning resentment.

He had cut an angry swath through the lands of Highever, blood running freely as he found the darkspawn threat still present. He was a different man than the one who had fought the blight. While he had always done what was necessary for success, such as enlisting the stronger werewolves over their Dalish enemies, and allowing the use of the anvil to craft magnificent slaves for battle, his actions were no longer tempered by the approval of his companions. He shed no tears as Ser Mhairi choked upon darkspawn blood, and had demanded to execute Nathaniel Howe himself for the crimes committed against his family. He ignored the whispers in the halls of Virgil's Keep, that this could not possibly by the hero of Ferelden, not this savage man. He did not care that even Ohgren avoided him, the berserker's temper no match for his own, and he hardly noticed that Anders ran off the first chance he got, fearing his new warden commander more than any Templar. Any noble who tried to speak out against him was either cut down, or imprisoned for treason. He had terrible bombs made, and seemed not to care if his allies were caught in the blaze in the heat of battle.

He burned Amaranthine to the ground when it was attacked by darkspawn, despite the cries of the people trapped within. Virgil's Keep was only just left standing, held together by strong dwarven craftsmanship, and by the time he brought the Mother's gruesome head to the gates and announced his departure, grey wardens had become a dark order, spoken of in hushed and fearful tones. Fergus Cousland, traveling to Highever too late to confront Aedan, found that his brother had managed what Arl Howe could not, he had destroyed his family's name.

Aedan did not ask permission to go this time, did not give Anora the chance to stop him a second time. He set sail for Antiva, again alone, but this time because he had no friends or allies willing to accompany him.

* * *

Restless, the heat prinking his skin, Aedan decided to head out. He took no armor, even light leathers too heavy in the climate, and a small purse of coins. He made sure his sword was visible, to deter pickpockets, though there was a small boy in one of the neighboring towns missing a hand after he had tried to thieve from Aedan Cousland.

He set out to the markets, something about the way he stood granting him space in amongst the jostling crowds. It was through the gaps in the throngs of people, nervously avoiding the dark brooding stranger, in amidst colourful banners and cheerful bartering, that he caught sight of his prey.

His hair was longer, the braids less well tended than the last time he'd seen him and falling down his shoulders. The darks lines down his face were the same though, and the flirtatious gestures as he chatted to the stall owner unmistakable.

Aedan felt his heart start to pound within his chest, after almost one long year, he'd finally managed to track down the assassin.

Without armor he was quiet, his footsteps masked by the chatter of the marketplace. He knew Zevran well enough to see him stiffen as he came up close behind him, and when the elf spun round with dagger in hand, Aedan was ready for him.

He grabbed the wrist, bringing it down onto the stall counter with enough force that Zevran could not keep a grip on the blade.

"Zevran..." his voice surprised him, low and warning. Zevran blinked, then smiled.

"Ah! You caught me off my guard, that almost never happens. I must be somewhat out of practice." His accent was stronger, and even though surprised he could catch the faintest hint of uncertainty as the elf eyed the noble, absent from his life since last year and unexpected in his sudden arrival.

Aedan did not let go, couldn't bring himself to release the elf, not after so long, but he did manage to relax his grip so it would not be so painful. Zevran's face did not betray him, but his voice held an uncertain waver.

"Aedan. If I give you my assurances that I will not run off, will you let go?"

Reluctant, Aedan withdrew his hand and Zevran bent down gracefully to retrieve his dagger, which he replaced on his belt. The Cousland noble could not help but notice that Zevran's hand lingered by the hilt.

They stood, silence sweeping beyond them to the stalls beyond. Some stall holders had already gathered their things and left, others were keeping their heads low and tongues still.

"I know that it is long overdue, but I am sorry..." Zevran's voice was quiet, his tone serious. Aedan felt his lips twist into a sneer.

" 'To the gates of the black city...' you said... When we were facing the archdemon, you said you would follow me to the very gates of the black city." his words were bitter, spat at the assassin.

"I did say that... and I meant it."

"Filthy liar... Should have known that a murderous backstabber like you could not actually bring himself to care about anyone other than himself."

"Stop it! Let me at least explain myself..." Zevran threw up his hands, as if to block the accusations. Aedan's face was a mask of rage, of unleashed fury pent up for far too long.

"It is too late."

Zevran lowered his eyes to the floor, and so did not see Aedan's hand strike out and clutch him by the neck of his tunic. The dagger came upwards, instintive, and barely a hair away from Aedan's face. Aedan had his own sword in hand, but it was no use against the dagger when in such close quarters.

Zevran tried to twist from Aedan's grasp, but the nobleman was stronger than the assassin, and had fought enough rogues to know their tricks. The dagger however, hung in the air, Zevran pressing it against the exposed throat, applying just enough pressure to warn against any counter attack. The elf could have claimed his life then, flicked the dagger and be done with it. Assassins did not deal in warning blows.

Zevran's eyes, fighting against Aedan's painful hold upon his tunic, softened. It did not matter that Aedan's mouth was twisted into a snarl, that there seems to be no reasoning with the rage filled man he used to know, he could not bring himself to hurt Aedan. Despite himself, he still felt for the grey warden, the year apart had not changed that, no matter how much he might wish for the longing to lessen.

He lowered his dagger, letting it drop to the floor as a sign of defeat.

"I cannot..." he said, willing Aedan to remember the time they'd spent together. Long nights soaked in sweat, tight embraces that blocked out the rest of the world and whispered words meant for only each other.

"More fool you." Aedan was swift and brutal. He yanked hard on Zevran's tunic, forcing the elf to bend and then brought the hilt of his sword against the back of his head. Zevran slumped, and Aedan threw him over a shoulder, his sword raised against anyone who might question him.

The market was deathly silent as the grey warden stalked off towards the inn, and it was serval minutes before the usual chatter resumed. Even then, it seemed muted, and nervous, as if fearful the strange man who spoke in foreign tongues might return should they mention his presence.

* * *

Jik knocked on the door, to find Aedan sat upon a chair, staring at a figure on the bed. It was an elf, with tattoo'd markings he had described countlessly without actually ever having seen. There was rope around his hands, and he seemed to be sleeping deeply, or unconscientious. Aedan, without lifting his eyes, pointed to a pouch of coins on the table by the door.

"Your services are no longer required."

Jik, carefully took the pouch, and looked inside. He gasped when he saw gold, far more than the price they had agreed on when Aedan had first enlisted his aid as a translator and guide.

"My lord... this is most generous..."

"Consider the additional coin a bonus for your hasty dismissal."

The clipped words, and the sense that something very bad was going to take place caused Jik to leave with nothing but a respectful dip of the head. While he was pleased with the coin, he couldn't help but feel sorry for the poor elf bastard still in the room with Aedan. He decided to get out of the city as soon as he was able.

* * *

Zevran groggily opened his eyes, to find himself on a bed. His hands were tied, familiar knots he recognized as Aedan's handy-work from their first encounter. The grey warden himself was sitting upon a chair leaning forwards, staring down with a dangerous look.

He made a small groan of pain as his head remembered where it had been struck.

"Ah... Aedan. It would appear that our reunion has not gone as well as I would have hoped..."

"You wanted a chance to explain. I will grant this to you. You have my complete and undivided attention, Zevran. Now tell me why you found it necessary to abandon me."

Zevran started to pull himself up to a sitting position, but a heavy hand upon his shoulder held him down.

"Would you believe I did it for your sake? No? I didn't think so, but that was my reason.  
"The archdemon dead and bleeding on the battlements, Lieanna already composing some tripe about valiant battles of good over evil, and I was awaiting your return from the council chambers. Anora was making grand speeches, and I had no patience to stand and be told how wonderful it was that Alistair had sacrificed himself. I decided to wait in the main hall, and had our escape route already planned out for when you were finally allowed to exit. There was a table laden with foodstuffs, I remember it, because there was a cheese board, and all I could think is that it was a shame that Alistair was missing it." Zevran smiled sadly at the memory.  
"Next to the food, almost hidden by the amount of meats and breads, was a dagger. A Crow dagger. It's an old tactic, where you unnerve the intended victim with carefully placed threats, driving them to fear and distraction. Effective, with little risk to the perpetrator. After all, there is no law against forgetting your dagger on a dining table."

Aedan frowned. Zevran was speaking without his usual confidence, possibly due to his current vulnerable state. It lent his voice an air of sincerity. Aedan wanted to believe the elf, wanted to accept that it was not spite that caused Zevran's sudden departure.

"Go on." His voice was flat, and Zevran felt a rising panic that Aedan could be so emotionless.

"The dagger was for me, Aedan, and there have been countless others since then. I could not put you at risk, I cared for you too much. So I decided to let you go. I elected to disappear in the night, and take the Crows with me. I figured you would be happier, that with all of Ferelden singing your praises you would soon forget about me."

"Why didn't you tell me any of this? Why didn't you even say goodbye?"

"I was afraid you would convince me to stay. It would not have been hard, I fear. Seeing you might well have broken my resolve."

Zevran sighed, remembering how hard it had been to walk away from the grey warden. Nearly drank himself to death trying to forget Aedan, and forced himself to believe that he had done what was necessary. That if he had not left , Aedan would suffer the same fate as Rinna. He cared too much to let that happen, to risk Aedan's life while he still had a crow contract on himself.

So he had come back to his homeland, and set about finding out who had renewed the contract to kill him. It was not surprising that the crows would not give up, there was a twisted form of honor at stake. The assassins who came after him, he easily bested. He knew the ways of the crows, and battling an army of darkspawn had honed his skills to a vicious edge. He offered them their lives, offering them a small bag of coin and the opportunity to leave the crows' service. Some spat, and bore their teeth, and proclaimed they would not betray their masters. These he dispatched. The others fled the city gladly, and soon the crow order began to fall apart. Those under servitude learnt that you could leave the crows, as they no longer had the numbers to track down every stray assassin.

Further contracts were placed on Zevran, vast sums of coin offered for the head of the elf. This, Zevran had also expected.

What followed was a string of murders, each skillfully carried out but no trace of the assassin responsible. The only link, was that every body had put money forward for the death of the infamous excrow. Some had been significant members of the crow organization, other, mere pawns with debts to the assassins. A crude message, perhaps, but clear at least.

As far as he knew, he had been successful, there was currently no contract against him. Yet, when he had heard of a local man asking about him openly, by full name and with an accurate description, he had decided not to linger. He had been on the move ever since, and now after long months of rootless wandering, he had found who had been hounding his footsteps so avidly.

Part of him wanted to rejoice, revel in the fact that the man he had come to love would care enough to find him again, despite his sudden departure. There was a more cautious part of him however, that coldly noted the rope binding him, and the darkness in Aedan's eyes.

Hands together, he reached forwards, and touched gently upon Aedan's knee, offering an apologetic smile. He could see the last year had not been kind to the nobleman, new scars marred his skin, and his face seemed ragged. Nevermind the absence of humor, of emotion save for anger.

"Please, Aedan, my dear Aedan... please forgive me. I did not mean to hurt you so, I did not think I meant as much to you... Leaving was the only way i could think to make sure you were not murdered by the crows for being someone i cared for. Be satisfied that I left for your sake."

Aedan moved then, shifted his knee from Zevran's light touch and brought his face up to the elf's. His lips were curled into a sneer, his eyes narrow.

"It has been nearly a year since I was last... satisfied..." Aedan's voice was little more than a dangerous rumble. Fingers under Zevran's chin lifted until the elf felt his neck stretched uncomfortably, and tightened so that he could not turn from the fearsome intensity of Aedan's expression.

"I intend to remedy that... no matter what lies you might spin for me."

The last time Zevran had lain, hands tied in front and at Aedan's mercy, after the infamous failed assassination attempt, the nobleman had reached down and cut the bonds, offering a hand to help the elf to his feet. This time Aedan pushed Zevran's head down between his elbows, as he pulled himself on to the bed, trapping the elf under his body.

"No! Aedan, no!" Zevran bucked, struggling against Aedan's intentions and anger. He could feel the nobleman shift over him, pushing his legs apart with his own, and grabbing the fabric of his trousers, pulling his hips upwards. Thrashing, panicked, Zevran tried to twist, tried to make eye contact with Aedan, to dissuade him from crossing this line.

"Do not do this... please... Do not do this to me..."

A heavy hand moved under his arms, and fingernails dug into the flesh of his chest, just over his pounding heart. The elf writhed in Aedan's grasp, but the nobleman had the strength of position, and held firm, growling low over Zevran's protests.

Zevran felt his trousers being yanked down, tearing, and Aedan's hot body press against his rear. He fought against the hand rubbing between his legs, searching for his entrance. Aedan gave him a frustrated shake, as Zevran's muscles refused to loosen, despite an insistent finger. Teeth bit into his shoulder, hard enough to pierce through the skin, and he heard Aedan snarl in impatience, mouth bloodied like a wild animal. The noble man forced a finger against him, movements rough and hard, and soon Zevran felt his body submit under the assault.

Aedan was panting, and chuckled darkly around heavy breaths as Zevran shuddered when he withdrew the finger. Zevran felt Aedan start to stroke his manhood against him, hot and hard, and slicked with what he thought would most likely by blood specked spittle. Zevran, his voice lost in his shock and disbelieve, shook his head, his hair hanging in loose strands over his face. If Aedan noticed, he gave no sign of heeding, set upon his coarse of depredation. Zevran gave a soundless cry as Aedan plunged into him, merciless and sudden, the pain and the realization that this would be a torturous experience, a punishment, flooding through his body. His knees lost their strength, but Aedan's grip upon his hips held him up, even as the Cousland started to thrust.

He hissed as a hand gripped around his manhood, tightly pumping him to erection, invasive and dominating. The elf bit down sharply on his lip as he was brought to a jarring climax, roughly, without a chance to recover. All the while having the constant jolts of penetration pounding into him.

Aedan forced himself past Zevran's pain threshold, his raw desire driving deep and destructive. Zevran could hardly breathe, his gasps soundless as Aedan pounded against him, filling his body with heat and pain and despair. Soft flesh was rubbed till raw, his inner core burning as skin was repeatedly stretched to breaking point by the sheer force of Aedan's lust. He felt a sheen of water cover his eyes, and squeezed them shut so that Aedan would not see. His jaw clenched, Zevran tried to shut off the creeping cold feeling that wound itself inside his chest. The grey warden, his grey warden, was no longer present. If there was anything left of the Cousland nobleman, who had smiled by campfire light and spent nights softly stroking against his skin, he was lost in the raging beast set upon violating the bruised elf, over and over until he felt a final defeated sob burst from his battered body.

With a resounding smack of sweaty flesh, Aedan released, his hot salty seed stinging as he let the elf fall onto the bed, face first and trembling. Zevran would have stopped himself, not granted Aedan the sight of himself so broken, but he found his heart had no strength to draw upon. He lay, body quaking from the onslaught, as Aedan lay down beside him. Zevran did not resist when he felt a steady hand tilted his face, and Aedan's hot breath so close he could hear the ripples of pleasure still lingering in his shallow breaths.

"You are mine, and I will not let you go a second time. Know that I will always find you, no matter where you run..." Aedan's voice was soft, and he whispered directly into Zevran's ear.

"Should it come to it, I will hound you to the very gates of the Black City..."


	2. Chapter 2

**M/M piece. Aedan (a rather dark and angry M!Cousland) and Zevran. Part of an ongoing series, which is likely to be a rough ride for both characters.**

Zevran struggled to wake, fighting his aching body and groggy mind as he forced his eyes to open.

A different room to before, larger and cleaner than the inn keep's accommodation. He was alone, but there were soft furnishings, such as curtains and a table, stocked with a fruit bowl, a bottle of wine, and some bread. He was wearing a loose shirt, and trousers which were torn at the hip. His hands were still tied, the skin beneath the rope raw, but with time and teeth he thought he should be able to free himself.

Then he remembered. With a groan he recalled Aedan, and his untempered rage, and how he had plundered Zevran against the assassin's will. Aedan, hero of Ferelden, had raped his former lover, and that cold fact made Zevran's chest tight.

He pushed himself from the bed, and sat up. Or at least, he tried to. He gagged as a wave of nausea rose in response to the sharp pain within him.

Before, Aedan had tried to make the elf walk, saying they had to go somewhere else, but he must have passed out, unable to move after being so brutally violated. He wasn't entirely sure where he was now, but the air held the heat of an Antivan summer day. He would have stood to glance out the window if he thought his legs could support him, but instead decided to stay of the painful side of consciousness for now. Gingerly, he reached and grabbed the wine with both bound hands, taking the cork out with his teeth and drinking to numb his senses.

Half a bottle, and he had to stop himself, knowing that he would likely force himself to sickness if he consumed any more. A bitter lesson, from when he had drank to quiet his mind, rather than his body.

* * *

The caravans from Denerim were slow, and as a passenger Zevran was not required to take watch, nor guard against bandits. Too similar to the long months traveling with the grey wardens, too much time to himself, and head too full of thoughts and regrets and longing. It had been torturous. Wine and mead were readily available, and served to blot out some of the more painful memories. He slept in fitful stupors, and did not join his fellows in their pointless banter. His manner went from cocksure and suave to arrogant and sleazy, with none of the charm to avoid insulting nearly everyone he spoke to. If it were not for his good coin, and the fact he still had enough skill with a dagger to deter any thoughts of mugging, he imagined he'd have been dumped by the wayside several times over.

During the journey to Adamanthine, where he was sure he could buy passage on a ship to Antiva, he tried not to think of Aedan. Leaving behind the grey warden, *his* grey warden, had been the hardest thing he'd ever had to do. It was for the best, he'd reasoned, over and over into his empty bottles. For the best that hero of Ferelden cut all with such as he. An assassin and ex-crow would make for scandalous gossip among the nobles, and he had a suspicion Anora might try to use his unsavoury past against Aedan, in some petty attempt at retribution for her father's execution.

Besides, the crows were moving against him personally, and such feuds often went poorly for anyone close to the target. No matter his strength at commanding troops on the battlefield, or uniting armies against darkspawn, Aedan would not be able to protect himself against a poisoned wine, or venomous bard hidden in a stately handshake. To protect his grey warden, Zevran knew that he had to left him. It might have been painful, but it was the right thing to do.

Most nights, the haze of alcohol allowed him to believe that. Other nights, when no matter how much he drank, he could not help but see the truth behind his fabrications and fortifications.

He loved Aedan, as much as an assassin raised by whores could. He had given an earring, as close to as admission as he could muster, and he thought that Aedan understood. Understood the significance, but also that the assassin was not one who could proclaim things such as love easily. He'd heard the words too often in the whorehouses, and could not fathom their meaning when it was sincere.

When they were reading to fight down the archdemon, neither sure if the they would live through the battle, the Antivan had indeed promised that he would storm the gates of the black city for his grey warden. He had meant every word, unable to lie to Aedan, but... Aedan had not said the same. He had said something sensible, about assassins not being much use against a demon possessed dragon, and not wanting to put him at unnecessary risk. At the time, Zevran told himself that with the efforts of all their traveling and gathering of forces sitting on top of Fort Drakon waiting for them, perhaps Aedan was not in a place where he could offer elegant platitudes to his lover. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew there was a chance Aedan might not survive, and that perhaps the Cousland noble was trying to spare the assassin one last confession of feeling, lest it break his heart.

Then, as he saw Aedan return from the tower, the blight and his fellow warden ended, a different thought crept into his head. Aedan would be a hero, no doubt. Aedan would be promoted to some lofty position of power and wealth, and Aedan would never again have to fight off bandits, nor defend his right to exist as a grey warden. He would be accepted, and celebrated. Aedan might not need him anymore.

With ladies and gents fitting his status surrounding him, why would he chose to keep an assassin by his side? They might have shared many nights together, but those were stolen moments to alleviate the stress of war. Now the blight was over, he may well reject Zevran in favour of a more acceptable partner.

Zevran had felt cold, and sick, and had excused himself from Anora's speeches, proclaiming them too dull. In truth, he could not stop the gnawing fear that gripped his heart, and could not look upon Aedan without wondering when the nobleman would realise that he the freedom to have anyone he wished, and need not be bound to an elf who couldn't even admit his heart to himself.

Zevran's past was littered with the corpses of those he had killed before they got a chance to betray him, to hurt him despite his carefully constructed defences of flirtation and confidence. He regretted their deaths, but with a emotional distance trained by years under Crow tutorage. Should Aedan chose to end their relationship, he did not know how he might react, though he feared that it would not be a peaceful parting of ways.

The Crow dagger had been an excuse to walk away before Aedan got the chance to reject him outright, to pretend that he was doing a selfless deed to protect the man he had come to care for. If the Crows did not kill him, Zevran decided, he just might. Such is the risk of dallying with an assassin.

The ache had become a dull throbbing, but he could at least shift himself without wincing. He'd eaten some bread, surprised to find it fresh, and started to worry at the knots of rope around his wrists.

He suffered through the worst of the rope burns, the wine taking the edge off enough that he could twist and bite until finally, the cords loosened and fell to the floor.  
His muscles protested as he lowered his hands, shoulders stiff from holding his arms in front for so long.

His success with the knots gave him strength, and reduced the cool chill of powerlessness in his spine. He stood, and though he stumbled from his legs suddenly giving out from under him as sharp pain shot through his lower torso, he caught himself on the windowsill.

An unfamiliar cityscape greeted him, the houses small and white and clustered in strange twisting pattens, the roofs flat and tiled in terracota. The streets looked winding, with steps guiding the paths upwards. They were halfway up a hill, looking down onto sea, but it seemed the town carried on up the hillside, crowded and cluttered. It was an Antivan city, but not one he could name.

It seemed he was at least a floor above the street level, which would normally have posed no problem for him. Likewise, the door (locked) would have been fairly easy to break through, if he could stand the resulting pain such exertions would incur. He doubted he would get far in his current state, or that Aedan would so easily let him escape.

He shuddered, and sat upon the bed. the thought of Aedan made him uncomfortable, and he reached for the wine bottle in efforts to quell his rising panic at his situation.

The bottle was nearly finished, when he heard footsteps approach the door, and a key turn in the lock.

Aedan reminded him of Sten as he walked in, that foreboding grimness. He resisted the urge to back away as Aedan closed the walk behind him. The Cousland nobleman seemed to steady himself before turning to face the assassin, standing by the table and casting a quick eye over what had been moved.

He said nothing, but at least seemed ill at ease. Zevran tried to keep his breathing calm, controlled, as he let Aedan struggle with the silence.

"Well?" he said, at last, the wine fortifying his courage.

Aedan's mouth twitched, like he might have spoken but then thought better of it.

"Well Aedan, what now? You appear to have started the process of breaking in an unruly elf slave, do you intent to continue?"

It was a dangerous ploy, but Zevran was angry enough not to care. He wanted to see if Aedan had any remorse for his actions. The dark marks upon his body, and rust coloured stains on the bed sheets were clear enough.

Aedan's eyes narrowed, and he took a step towards Zevran, one hand coming down to rest on the bed, the other reaching to grab the elf's chin.

"What do you think...?"

"Truthfully, I am not sure. It seems I not to know you as I once did. It rather depends upon what it is exactly you want?" Zevran met his eyes, he was not afraid of the warrior, he'd already hurt him as deeply as possible, but he did not try to mask the sadness in his voice.

Hot lips met his, and Aedan's hand under his chin stopped Zevran from pulling away. The elf flinched briefly in surprised, but quickly realised that Aedan's grip did not allow for escape. Aedan's eyes were closed, and he kissed like he he was trying to make a point to himself. His tongue touched upon Zevran's lips, and with just enough force to part them, pressed deep into the assassin's mouth. If it had been anyone else, Zevran might have torn himself away, or bit down in defence, but Aedan's taste overwhelmed him, and he found himself parting his lips, and letting his tongue slip over the nobleman's. Fighting him and the memory of him was too hard, and Zevran was not convinced that he could successfully resist having Aedan so close. His hair might have been a shade lighter, his skin a shade darker, and behind his eyes there was something darker still, but this was Aedan. The fingers on the elf's chin tightened, and Aedan pulled back, staring into Zevran's golden eyes.

Aedan curled his forefinger on the chin slightly, stroking with a softness Zevran's skin remembered all too well.

"I want you." Aedan's voice was husky, and held a firmness that would not be argued with.

"What about what I might want, do I get a say in this?" Zevran knew he did not want the answer, he suspected he could already guess Aedan's reply. Worse, he knew it would make no difference.

"No."

Zevran let the word sink in, both for himself, and for Aedan.

The assassin had pledged himself to the nobleman, first with an oath, then with an earring. He might have left Aedan in Denerim, but the man had haunted him, no matter how many miles separated them. Wine and mead had not eased the longing, and his heart refused to reharden after he'd allowed it to feel the warmth of being able to trust and love another. He might have escaped servitude under the crows, and fulfilled his promises to assist with ending a blight, but he was not free, and never had been.

Fingers on his face lingered, then Aedan stood. Zevran watched him get up and frowned, head spinning with the wine and the conversation. He reached across, not bothering to mask the pain as his body protested his sudden movement. His hand gripped onto Aedan's wrist, questioning, and the grey warden looked down. The angry red welts where rope had rubbed against skin until it blistered were visible and Aedan seemed surprised at the extent of the damage.

"I was going to leave you to rest... " he said, and Zevran noticed that his trousers were tight around his groin. He was leaving, lest he hurt Zevran again. This surprised the elf, but he could not let Aedan leave just yet. Aedan Cousland had, in his usual heavy handed manned, removed Zevran's fear at rejection, as well as his opportunity to run away if it got too intense. Looking at Aedan, at the face which was tired, eyes which seemed cold, Zevran could see that the grey warden did not just want him. He needed him as well.

"Its not like I am in need of the beauty sleep..." A smirk, which surprised both men. He gently pulled Aedan back down onto the bed, and very slowly, so that Aedan could stop him if he wanted, let his head rest against the nobleman's chest. They sank onto the bed, together, the rise and fall of the grey warden's breaths steady. The Cousland noble did not entirely relax, as he reclined, but he did give the slightest nod as Zevran carefully traced a hand down his chest and started to unlace his breeches.

Reclaiming some control, Zevran could not help but smile as Aedan shifted slightly, impatiently as he started to kiss downwards. He was careful not to tease too much, the boundaries they had previously established had changed in ways he could not predict, and the tension still ran high between them.

He breathed over Aedan's arousal once, twice, then slid over it. He could feel Aedan sigh beneath him, and grab the bedclothes in his hands rather than risk grabbing onto the elf's head. Zevran dipped his head, until his nose brushed the mass of hair between the legs of the grey warden, and started to rock. He could not keep his pace steady, Aedan obvious pleasure spurring him to swallow deeply, his throat working to tighten and his tongue rolling out under the shaft. Aedan twitched, and made a series of grunts and gasps as Zevran curled his hands under Aedan's hips. Zevran squeezed the flesh, and mummered as he pulled himself so that Aedan's length was entirely inside him. Aedan's hips jerked and hot salt filled his mouth. He swallowed, Aedan's erection still in his mouth, delighting in the strained cry that followed.

Panting, Aedan released the bedsheet, and stroked Zevran's hair, a look of confusion on his face as he guided the elf back up the bed so that they were face to face.  
"Why...? Not that I am complaining, but why did you do that?"

"Because much as it may surprise you, it so happens that I do want to stay. I do not much like having the choice taken from me, nor your manners from last night." Aedan's eyes lowered, the first sign that he was at all sorry for his actions. Zevran decided not to linger on the subject, "You always did take the most direct route once you knew your goal... and woe to anyone stupid enough to get in your way. I am no slave, nor humble servant though. Should it suit you, I will stay, by your side. I have no doubt it will take time for your trust to grow again, but I do not plan on going anywhere."

Aedan watched him warily, disbelieving, as he bent forwards, and lightly touched his lips to the human's ear.

"I am yours."


	3. Chapter 3

**Italic sentences are in Antivan. Aedan Cousland does not speak this language, so does not know what is said**.

It was a tenuous rebuilding of the relationship, recovering little by little, day by day. Aedan did not force Zevran in anything, and Zevran did not leave. Dangerous questions were not asked, by mutual unspoken agreement. Neither remarked on the fact that Zevran always seemed to smell faintly of healing poultices, nor that Aedan would not fall asleep in the presence of the elf. They did not speak of the past, nor the future, instead talking at great length on the quality of wine and food Aedan brought into Zevran's room, or the difference in the sunsets between Antiva and Ferelden.

Little by little, Zevran found that he could stay calm when Aedan walked in the room, and day by day, Aedan seemed to relax in the assassin's company. There were flare ups, when Zevran would make some lighthearted comment which Aedan found cause for offence, or when Aedan would lose control of his temper and snap without reason, but generally, things were progressing in a manner that both found acceptable. Soon, the elf was able to walk without wincing, and was given Aedan's somewhat brief and gruff tour of the house he was renting.

"Kitchen, help yourself."  
"Front door, do not go through it without checking with me first."  
"Washroom, you can collect water from the back pump."  
"My quarters, stay out."  
"Do not assassinate or bed the cleaning lady." This last comment was uttered with a hint of a smile, rare and welcome.

The cleaning lady in question was an aged Antivan human fishwife, hands too arthritic to gut fish but able to push a mop around the marble floors. Small, and shrived like a piece of fruit left too long out in the searing Antivan sun, but with the deep laughter lines only earning by years of good humour. She was in the process of wiping down the dining table, when they walked by. She took one look at Zevran, eyeing him suspiciously and then demanded to speak to Aedan, with a series of flapping hand gestures and grabbled Ferelden.

Aedan looked at Zevran, "Will you act as translator? She doesn't speak enough Ferelden that i can understand her, and my Antivan is nonexistent. I don't even know her name, but she does a good job keeping the place tidy."

Zevran gave a bow to the lady, shallow but smiling.

_"My dear lady, the master of the house wishes me to act as interpreter between yourselves. What is it you need to communicate?" _

This seemed to incite the cleaning lady to grab Aedan (his hand clenched, Zevran noted) and try to drag him away.

"Poisonous. Much bad poisonous!" she said, pointing at Zevran with a desperate finger.

"Ah. Would seem she recognises me for a crow, and is concerned for your wellbeing... Quite touching actually, to have such commitment in your staff..." Zevran took a step backwards, a faint smile playing upon his face. He held his hands out to show he was unarmed, and took a deep breath.

"I think she is committed to her wage..." Aedan muttered sourly, shaking the lady from his hand. He made a hush gesture with his hand and sighed. The poor bewildered lady ceased her attempts to warn Aedan, and shot Zevran a distrusting glare.

_"Get yourself from here! I know what you are, assassin!" _

Zevran tried not to laugh, fearing it would only make matter worse. Instead he settled for leaning against the dining table, and offering a chair.

"_I shall try to explain, though I have no doubt you will distrust everything I say. You might as well hear me out however. Might I have your name, my lady?" _

_"Liunet. Miss Liunet to you. And don't you go thinking you can charm me. I've heard every line you've got and then some." _

She sat, and crossed her arms. Zevran gestured to Aedan, who by now had poured himself a glass of wine and was standing, looking very much like like he wished he had something stronger available.

_"He knows that I am an assassin. We have worked together in the past. I will be staying here, as his guest, for a long time. You will worry yourself a whole head of grey if you do not trust when I say that neither you or he is at risk from my blade." _

_"The day I trust a crow is the day I sprout fins and jump into the sea!" _

Zevran turned to Aedan, laying his head against his hand, still trying to hide his mirth at the situation.

"Lo and behold, she doesn't quite trust me. And you have not the skill in Antivan to regal her with our epic background. So... any ideas?"

"I can dismiss her, and hire someone else."

"A little drastic, and we may well face a repeat with the next. The crows are rather infamous, and we have certain telltale signs. Something in the way we walk, and these tattoos are certainly popular." Zevran pointed to his face, and looked at Liunet, almost in sympathy. He had to admit a growing endearment to the lady, who would waggle a finger at a crow.

Aedan followed his gaze to observe the elderly woman, who was sitting puffed up like an irate chicken. He grunted briefly, walking across and very pointedly shook Zevran's hand, speaking in a voice twice his normal volume and in Ferelden common

"Zevran... friend..."

If Zevran had wanted to chuckle before, he now wanted to burst with laughter. Liunet frowned, and jerked her head at Aedan.

_"He doesn't speak any Antivan, does he?" _

_"Barely a word." _

_"Figures... Right. I want a written paper from him, with-no-input-from-yourself," _she jabbed fingers as she spoke, voice determined, "_saying that he knows you are a crow. And an assassin. And probably going to murder him in his bed. I gots a friend who can read Ferelden, so he'll tell me what it says." _

Zevran was honestly surprised at the woman's ingenuity, but shook his head slightly.

_"It is not very healthy for myself to go about broadcasting my past on little bits of paper... Would something a touch more subtle suffice?" _

She twisted her mouth at this, but eventually gave a nod.

_"Suppose so..." _

_"Very well." _

Zevran relayed her instructions to Aedan, as well as his own concerns that having a message about a crow and an assassin might lead to more trouble. The nobleman nodded, bemused by the hassle, and left to go into his private bedroom.

Zevran let his grin break, and poured himself some wine, offering a glass to Liunet. She shook her head, scowling.

_"If you speak very little Ferelden, and he almost no Antivan, how on earth did you come into his service I wonder...?" _

_"Bloke at the bar mediated. Took a whole silver too. Your man, he is not very good at haggling. I would offer to fetch his shopping, I daresay he pays through the nose, but when I tried to explain, he thought I was hungry and gave me an apple." _

_"He is from Ferelden. they do not haggle there, so yes, I would say he most likely does go about spending far too much. If you would be so good as to take over the shopping, perhaps I will fail to mention that he is probably overpaying yourself by quite a bit." _

She gave a short snort, and Zevran shrugged innocently.

Aedan came down with a piece of parchment, and handed it to Liunet. Zevran moved over to a window overlooking the city, and gestured the grey warden across as Liunet tucked the paper away, then, seeing that things were in a good state of cleanliness, took her leave. No doubt to go and pester her contact with Ferelden writings, though Zevran wryly.

"I should have perhaps warned her that your handwriting is like chicken scratches? No matter, I'm sure she will trust me as far as she could throw me, despite anything you might have written... What did you write, out of interest?"

Aedan rested himself on the sill, arms crossed and frowning that even as the sun was setting, the air showed no signs of cooling.

"It said that I can take care of myself, and that nosey housemaids should mind their own business..."

Zevran looked for a hint of smile that might suggest that this was a jest, but when Aedan looked at him coldly, he held a hand to his mouth, covering a wide smile.  
"Oh.. she is not going to like that!"

Zevran laughed, and Aedan's lips gave a small curl of amusement.

"She did mention taking on the shopping as part of her duties however, and I suggest you take her up on that. I fear you are being swindled, my dear Aedan, and your little Liunet will not so easily by conned out of coin."

"Liunet? That's her name?"

"Indeed."

Aedan frowned, and his fist clenched. Zevran reached and put a hand upon his shoulder, concerned.

"I thought that was the sodding name of the city!" Aedan growled, low and looking out of the window.

Zevran laughed again, unable to catch himself in time and Aedan jerked his shoulder from his touch. He saw the fist, and dropped reflexively, as Aedan hit out at where his head would have been.

He straightened, taking quick steps away from Aedan. The blow would have hurt, probably broken his nose or jaw, had he not managed to move out the way in time. Aedan was looking at his fist, rubbing it with his other hand slowly. His chest heaved in deep breaths, and his teeth were tight against each other.

He muttered an apology, but did not look up. Zevran was somewhat thankful for that, because had Aedan met his eyes, he'd have seen that the elf was dismayed that he had lost his temper over such a trifling thing, and just a touch of fear.

He excused himself, and went to his room, leaving Aedan by the window. Slowly, the grey warden managed to unclench his hands, and, sighing heavily, he put his head in them.

* * *

Aedan had always had a temper. The assassin had seen it often enough on their past travels, flaring when his actions were called into question, or when he knew a hard decision had to be made, no matter whose lives it might impact upon. He had a grim determination, and a focus on the final goal that held no room for guilt or regret. Zevran had come up against that anger when the two grey wardens, Sten and the dog had come back from the Dalish camp. They brought with them a stoney silence, and none would speak of the events that transpired. It was a werewolf, who followed days later and sat itself by the camp that had told Zevran of the Dalish massacre.

Zevran would have come round to the idea, given time. He could see the werewolf was strong, and fast, and could well imagine against an army of darkspawn werewolves would be welcomely able allies. Aedan however, had brought up his own Dalish roots too soon, and he had bitterly questioned when Aedan was going to let him know that he had helped the werewolves to murder every elf in the Dalish encampment. Aedan had come up close to the elf, towering over him, armor rattling as he shook with unbridled rage. Even as the grey warden had snarled about duty, and about the choices he had to make so that the blight was ended before it completed destroyed the land, Zevran had not once been afraid that Aedan would strike him.

Thinking back, he wondered if perhaps he had too easily discounted Aedan's increasing bouts of rage as an outlet to the gathering stress of organising and deploying a hasty collected army against an archdemon. Towards the end, he had seen Aedan shout at Leianna for missing with her bow, or threatening Morrigan with bodily harm if she caught him in one of her magic blasts again. The serious nature of their quest probably held them together, when Aedan's anger might have pushed his companions away, and the magnitude of their venture might have well helped him still his hand or tongue at his more heated moments.

In some ways, Zevran suspected that without his inner fury, Aedan would not have had the strength to succeed. In battle he was a champion, shouting and driving into hoards of enemies with a bloodlust that could not be matched. Aedan should have died, on more than one occasion, but his sheer will had pulled him from the brink of death. The fire inside might have made him a hero, but now it seemed to be out of control.

Or was it the taint? Zevran hated the idea of the taint they had fought within every leering darkspawn growing inside his grey warden. He knew about the joining, and the darkness Aedan had consumed in order to join the grey wardens. Alistair had spoken of it around the camp, and Zevran had at first not believed that anyone would be so stupid as to purposefully take on such poison. He'd seen corrupted dwarfs and blighted spiders and wolfs, creatures twisted by the foul blood. He had thought better to openly argue it with Alistair, who was devoted to his lost order. Aedan however, held a grudging acceptance most of the time, but sometimes would speak of things he would not ever have. There had been such sadness in his voice when he spoke of his nephew, or his old ideas of leading a peaceful life overseeing lands and the people within. Zevran knew that the taint could not be reversed, and so let the grey wardens keep their secret. It seemed cruel to speak of things that could not be changed.

He wished now that he had learnt what he could of the grey wardens and their dark burden when Alistair was alive. Zevran feared Aedan would react aggressively to any queries he might have, especially if he were to bring up Aedan's increasing anger.

So the assassin was left wondering if it was taint he was seeing in his grey warden's eyes, or something that had always been there.

* * *

Aedan poured himself a large glass of sweet wine, and looked to Zevran's room. The door was closed.

The assassin had carefully withdrawn some hours ago, and not since emerged. The slow sick feeling of shame lingered in the grey warden's mind, and he debated whether to knock and force confrontation over the 'incident'.

He had not meant to strike out at the assassin, but his own embarrassment at his mistake about the town's name had grated against his frustration of Antiva in general. Zevran's light laughter had simply pushed him too far.

Yet... he knew that he had overreacted, that Zevran had not deserved to be hit out against, whether the blow connected or not. He knew this, and it made him uncomfortable.

The wine was heady, and thick, and served to distract him as he sat by the dining room, able to watch Zevran's door whilst not wearing the soles of his shoes out pacing. He paced more often these days, and, he quietly admitted to himself, he was losing his temper on a regular basis. Jik had seen it, before when they were traveling. The little man had steered clear when Aedan grew cold and quiet, the lull before the storm breaks. Zevran was too entangled to back off, and though he was following Aedan's lead in making small talk and little else of substance, it would not be long before he started to ask questions Aedan did not want to answer.  
He did not want to speak of the events of the last year, and he certainly did not wish to talk about what happened when he had first found Zevran in Antiva.

His hand tightened on the glass, and he he took a further drink. He had been furious at Zevran for running away. It had felt like a betrayal, and had stacked with Loghain's treachery of the grey wardens, and Howe's traitorous actions against his family. It had hurt, and he wanted to make the elf hurt in return. After he left Denerim, he found he could not trust in anyone, and while he fought through the new hoards of darkspawn, he felt disconnected, ungrounded. So he decided to find Zevran.

Through months of searching, Jik tentatively following him across Antivan soil, he had let the idea of finding Zevran occupy him. It was easier than dwelling on the past. It was easier than trying to accept that Zevran was gone forever and move on.

It became easier to blame Zevran. Zevran had caused this terrible anger. So he placed all his faults and misdeeds upon the elf, and satisfied himself that he would make Zevran answer for running off and leaving him this way. He had not made plans for what he might do, once he had finally sought out the assassin.

When he saw Zevran laying there, trying to explain, he had not listened. It was easier to believe that the elf was lying, rather than absolve Zevran of the blame he had attributed him. The hurt he had carried inside him surfaced, and mixed with his lust at seeing his lover after so long, and he had raped him.

He no longer thought that Zevran had been lying, and this made his actions all the more horrific.

Aedan sighed, and resisted the temptation to refill his glass. He found it quite hard enough to stay in control without alcohol.

In all his battles and fated duties, Aedan had felt forced into the role of hero. Alistair, kind and dedicated Alistair, would have made a better hero. His determination to 'do the right thing' set an excellent example, and his sincerity gave people reason to believe him. Aedan knew that Wynn would have left the group long before they ever reached the archdemon, Aedan plainly telling her he wanted none of her 'sagely advice', if not for Alistair's intervention on Aedan's behalf. Aedan might had lead them, but it was Alistair who held everyone together. He had made sure Morrigan had not fireballed Leianna for singing while they walked, nor Sten challenge Oghren to a fight to the death over the dwarf's drunken implications about qunari women. It might have been coincidence rather than design, but by being the subject of ridicule and in Morrigan's case, irritation, he absorbed the brunt of the others' negative emotions, and was good natured enough that it did not make the slightest dent in his humour.

Alistair refused to take charge though, and so Aedan had to take on that role, with all its strains and stresses.

Since Howe slaughtered his family, and Duncan recruited him, Aedan had little say in the path he was made to walk upon. No choice in being a grey warden, no control in having the fate of Thedas rest upon his shoulders. It was a great weight, and he struggled with it.

The one thing he chose for himself, was Zevran.

Alistair had not liked that they took in the assassin. Morrigan refused to eat anything the elf prepared. Wynn had made her views on his growing relationship with Zevran perfectly clear, and Aedan had not cared. He needed to have something he could say he decided for himself. He also knew he could trust Zevran, at least trust his intentions. He'd made it clear that should Zevran ever lie to him, their relationship would be over. Zevran, for his part, accepted that, and seemed content with the arrangement.

It had been pleasing to have Zevran's warm body curl next to him at night, but more important was the sense that he had regained some control in his life.

When Zevran left, something inside Aedan broke. It was not his heart, nothing so poetic, but rather the thin grip he had on himself. He'd been made a reluctant hero, a savior and a champion. There was very little left of Aedan Cousland, once the titles and honorifics had been stripped away. His quest completed, his lover absconded, he felt empty inside.

Anger had filled him, stopped him from simply slipping into the role of dutiful grey warden again. He had gone to Highever, as commanded, but he had not saved the land. Resenting every day, he pushed back the darkspawn, but at great cost. He had not cared. He left as soon as he was able, and set about seeking out Zevran.  
He didn't just want to find Zevran, he wanted to bring him back under his control. So he'd threatened the elf. He'd tied his lover up. He'd hurt him.

He'd not expected Zevran to stay willingly.

He wanted to trust Zevran, but after so long being angry he was conflicted. He did not want to feel that terrible pain again, did not want to risk it. He was almost certain that losing Zevran again would destroy him.

Yet, he longed for company. longed to hear someone whisper his name, and share heated kisses long into the night. He longed for the closeness he had felt with Zevran, but his anger remained, the hurt running too deep to let him forget.

So he sat, mind in turmoil, watching Zevran's door, unable to bring himself to knock, unwilling to look away.


	4. Chapter 4

**Bioware owns dragon age. In this chapter M/M sex.**

When Luinet came back and found her employer slumped in the dining room, empty glass sitting beside him, she feared the worst. The fact her screams brought a half dressed crow charging towards her from one of the bedrooms did not help.

_"Murderer!" _

Aedan stirred, and pulled himself upright to see his washing lady swatting at Zevran in a flurry of hands while the elf fended them off as peaceably as he could while trying to hold up his trousers. It looked rather comical, one of the infamous crow assassins backing away from an angry old woman, but the noise was rather uncalled for this early in the morning.

"Stop that."

Zevran lowered his hands, and Luinet took advantage of this to land a last swat across his nose. Aedan's tone was firm, and she looked at him expectantly. Then she pulled a rather crumpled piece of parchment and waved it about angrily.

"It would appear," Zevran said, smiling wryly as he rubbed his nose while Aedan drowned in angry Antivan, "That Miss Luinet blames myself for the note you wrote."

"Tell her that she can either accept the fact that you will be staying, or take her earnings and leave... I dislike being woken by shrieks, darkspawn or otherwise..."

Zevran dutifully repeated the sentence in Antivan and Luinet appeared to ponder over it.

_"I'm staying. You won't be rid of me so easily. And just so you know, I'll be watching you..." _

_"Fair enough, I am rather attractive." _

Luinet huffed, before pointedly going and picking up a mop. Aedan gestured to the back porch, where there was a simple set of chairs and a table set out. Zevran finished fastening his trousers as he followed Aedan, smiling politely at Luinet as he passed. The elf pulled his chair into the sunlight, whilst Aedan sat himself comfortably in the shade.

"I very much suspect that is not the last we will hear of it..." Zevran remarked as he lounged back. Aedan knew well enough that although his pose seemed fully relaxed and at ease, Zevran was keeping a keen eye upon the grey warden.

Aedan was about to speak when Zevran held up a hand.

"You have already said you are sorry... You need not repeat yourself." he said quietly. Aedan was grateful for the elf's understanding that apology was not easy for him. Nothing was easy anymore.

"I will keep a tighter reign on my anger." he offered by way of reassurance.

Zevran was not so naive to believe it was as simple as that, but forced a smile so his concern did not show on his face. He tipped his head to the water pump, and slowly rose to his feet.

"You are sulking in the shadows there, my grey warden. Perhaps I might show you a trick for dealing with the Antivan heat?"

Aedan watched as Zevran pulled some water into a beaten tin basin, and laid it out before the chair. He scrapped his own chair over, and dipped his bare feet into the water.

Aedan removed his shoes slowly, and maneuvered his chair so that he could also bathe his feet. The water was cool, and pleasant, but moreover, he felt the clinging sweaty warmth ebb away. Soon he found himself uncomfortably cold, and shifted his chair to join Zevran's in the sun.

"So much nicer than trailing around frosty mountain tops looking for dragons and ashes, it is not?"

Aedan sighed, content to say nothing, his eyes closed and a hint of a smile gracing his lips.

For fear of displacing that smile, Zevran stayed his hand from brushing against the grey warden's chest and cheek, but he could not resist allowing his foot to softly rub against Aedan's.

"Much nicer than trailing after wayward assassins certainly."

Aedan opened his eyes, and smirked at Zevran, whose foot had stopped suddenly.

"While you are no Dalish tracker, you did seem to have found me when I had not wished to be sought out. Though I thought it crows seeking myself, rather than you."

"The crows still wish you dead?" Aedan's face had tightened, slightly. having found his assassin, he had no wish to lose him again to a crow blade.

"I do not think so, but it is hard to tell. I believe I may have deterred them from making any further attempts at retribution."

"How?"

Zevran paddled his feet, feigning aloofness. Aedan knew too well that the assassin was weighting up how much of his recent past he wished his lover to be privy to. The Antivan had a dark series of misdeeds in his history, and some of the memories he had not wished to relive by sharing them with Aedan Cousland, which the nobleman had accepted. Still, he needed reassurance in this, a more present danger.

"Zevran... I will not judge you..."

Zevran crossed his arms behind his head, and reclined.

"Well, they sent assassins after me, naturally. Those are no longer a threat. Then I started to whittle down the higher ranks. They did not like that much."

"Wait... You left the crows and annoyed them, so they tried to kill you. Now you have annoyed them some more and you think that this will help?" Aedan's voice was only half humoured.

"I think I have successfully proven that I am more effort than it is worth to try and make an example of me. Though I will confess some pleasure at being able to 'annoy' those who had called themselves my masters."

"Antiva is a strange land..." Aedan shook his head. He knew Zevran would have a better handle on the workings of Antivan and crow politics, but it did not make them seem any more sensible. He shut his eyes, deciding to let the water soak away the heavy heat, and his concerns that Zevran may still be in danger.

Zevran, taking advantage that Aedan's would not be able to see, ran a dripping toe up the inner side of Aedan's calf from the tub. The nobleman shifted slightly, pointedly ignoring the flirtations of the assassin.

"You are trying to give the cleaning lady things to fluster over..." he muttered. He did not opened his eyes, he did not need his sight to know that Zevran was smirking, and that from the doorway, Luinet was trying to watch them without being noticed.

"Maybe a little." Zevran leaned over, and placed a kiss upon his lips.

There was a strange, surprised squawk behind them, and Aedan carefully pushed Zevran back, giving him a reproachful look.

"We should go somewhere a little less likely to induce heart attacks in the staff."

* * *

Zevran had started to roll his trousers down over his hips, while Aedan made sure the door was properly closed. He doubted that Luinet would try and interrupt, but he didn't want to risk it. The little washerwoman had a bold streak, and though she would hopefully see the relationship as explanation for Zevran's presence, he had no doubt that her dislike and distrust for the Antivan assassin would not so easily dissipate.

Soft golden hands over his chest, tugging gently at his shirt, pulled his thoughts back to the room, where Zevran was pressing into his back. Aedan felt fingertips dance over the neckline of his shirt, before starting to pull the fabric over his head. He turned to face Zevran, standing tall and strong, smiling softly as he reached and drew Aedan's head forward. A second kiss, more heated than the last met his, and Aedan opened his mouth to draw Zevran in deeper.

Hands upon his face, and neck, and the elf arching into his arms, it was almost as they had been before. Before the final battle with the archdemon, before Zevran's departure.

Before Aedan had forced himself upon Zevran.

Aedan bent his head to kiss upon the flesh of Zevran's neck, and realised that though he ached to have the assassin, he'd had to be restrained. He had to show Zevran he could control himself, to be careful of Zevran's still busied body, but also, he wanted this joining to be different.

He let out a slow hot breath, deliberately letting it pass over the elf's neck, causing shivers, and slowed his kisses to tender, soft touches of his mouth upon the skin, mixed with heated breaths and just the slightest hint of wetness on his lips. Zevran let Aedan take a little more of his weight, stretching his chin upwards, a quiet 'mmm' of approval reverberating in his throat. The grey warden could feel the vibrations, and let his tongue slip out and lick along the line of his neck, trailing downwards. Aedan took a step forwards, and pulled Zevran alongside him on the bed. He had to fight to keep his pace as Zevran rested his face upon his chest, and he could let his head tip forwards and inhale the assassin's scent.

Zevran nuzzled briefly, as Aedan's chest rose and fell with the deep lungfuls he was drawing from his hair. He sank down, twisting to the side so as not to trap Zevran under his weight, and started to kiss down the exposed spine. He encouraged Zevran to lay, belly down on the bed as he ran his hands down the ribs either side of where he was kissing, and found the assassin compliant, trusting.

Hands on the smooth skin of his rear, he checked to see Zevran's expression. The elf's eyes were half-lidded, his breaths starting to become rushed and rhythmless.

"Can you pass me the oil? Its by the bed..."

Zevran opened his eyes, and after rummaging past the littered poultice packets and empty red hued bottles that had previously contained health potions, found a small jar, which he held out to Aedan. The request was strange coming from the nobleman, and Zevran realised as Aedan paused to regard him that he was waiting for permission. He gave a smile, sultry as he arched his back under Aedan's stilled hands.

Aedan slicked a finger, and rubbed up and down Zevran cleft before starting to stretch him. Twisting slightly, curling slowly, he started to build up a slow rhythm as he reached deep inside his lover. Zevran, for once, was lost for words. Never before had Aedan taken such care, paid such attention to the way his body reacted to his hands and fingers. The grey warden was rewarded with the clicking of teeth as he stroked against the hidden depths, and Zevran gathered bedsheets into his hands, reading himself for Aedan to fully enter him.

He had some resverations about the act, as much as he took pleasure in love-making, he was painfully aware that he was still in recovery. Aedan had always been a force in the bedroom, his manner powerful and strong like the man himself. Zevran found the passion unbridled within him part of his appeal, but now was touched with concern that this might mean more of the sickly healing liquids, and further days of dull bedrest. Not to mention the pain.

Aedan started to press against Zevran, filling the assassin in one long stroke. Zevran's knuckles blanched, and Aedan was acutely aware of how tight and heated the mending flesh was. He swallowed thickly, and drew himself back, slow and gentle. It took some effort on his part to keep his hips from thrusting heavily into the elf, but Zevran's look of surprise, and the wordless 'o' of his mouth as Aedan rocked carefully inside him granted him the resolve he needed.

The sensation of the deep and slow erection repeatedly pressing and withdrawing inside him surpassed the brief anxiety and occasional twinges of pain, and Zevran was struck by Aedan's consideration. As the slow languid motions brought him closer to his threshold, Zevran realised that Aedan would be able to hold this pace much longer than he could stand, and his dignity would not allow him to beg. Steading himself with a few deep breaths, Zevran started to push back against Aedan's body, raising his hips from the bed. Aedan gave a low moan, Zevran repeated the movement, flexing his back and rolling his hips in time with unhurried momentum Aedan had established.

Between panting breaths, Aedan leant in and nibbled upon his ear, the heat of his stomach flush against his back and the firm pressure of his length driven up to the hilt almost pushing Zevran past his limit.

"...Zevran..!" Aedan gasped, and the elf felt warmth fill him, the nobleman suddenly heavy upon his back. With a sigh Zevran released, shuddering as he lowered them to the bed. after bunching the bedsheets to help them clean themselves up and dropping them to the floor, and he curled into the arms of the grey warden. In these brief moments, Aedan would let his guard down and relax, and Zevran enjoyed seeing the thin lines around his eyes soften, and the tension slip from his shoulders. He closed his eyes, content to listen to the Cousland noble's soft and steady breathing.

He was starting to drift off, when he felt Aedan rise behind him.

"Much too hot to lay together..." he said quietly, and touched his hand to the elf's face. Zevran gave a small nod, and propped himself up on an elbow to watch Aedan as the grey warden gathered his trousers up and started to dress.

"Why stay in Antiva then? If the heat bothers you so, we could travel back to Ferelden, or anywhere else that takes your fancy."

Aedan stopped and stood still as a golem, and Zevran regretted asking the question that had caused such a shift in mood. Aedan sat down on a chair, his mouth tight.

"I very much doubt I would be welcome back in Ferelden." he stated. Zevran frowned, last he had heard the lands were still praising the hero of Ferelden. He'd been amused to hear how their adventures had turned into a series of epic ballads, full of bravery and goodness. Depicted as a giant of a man, full of virtue and honour, Aedan had apparently been rescuing people from burning buildings, uniting feuding families and breaking all manner of dread curses by his mere presence when no one else was watching.

"Aedan... What did you _do_?"

Narrowed eyes met his, but Zevran did not back down. He recognised that there had been a change in Aedan Cousland, but the idea that the change could have nullified his hero's reputation was a new and alarming thought.

"I fulfilled my duties as a grey warden." Aedan's voice was low, not yet threatening but his stance was tense. All vestiges of peacefulness gone, which Zevran noted with wary trepidation.

"You had to make some tough choices...? Choices perhaps not the most popular?" Zevran said carefully.

"No-one else was there to make them."

The elf did not outwardly seem to notice the resentment in the statement, but Zevran could almost taste the guilt in his mouth. He had left Aedan, when the grey warden had needed him. More than on a physical level, he'd needed emotional support than he would never admit to, and the elf had been absent. Some of the anger started to make sense now, and Zevran wondered how much more was kept locked back within Aedan.

Aedan stood, finished fastening his breeches, and after giving Zevran a long unreadable look, walked out.

Frustrated at Aedan for refusing to talk on the matter, and irritated that the afterglow had been soured, Zevran lay his head down on the bed. He fought down the urge to march out after Aedan and force a confrontation, and stop playing such a grating subdued role. It was not his nature to meekly accept that he had to watch his every word, lest it offend the nobleman, nor bite back his opinions upon Aedan's increasing abrupt behaviour.

He decided a short nap would calm him, and put in a more favourable mood for speaking to his grey warden. They had a lot to talk about.


	5. Chapter 5

**italitics mean person is speaking in Antivan. **

**many thanks to all who have encouraged me through story favoriting/ alerts and reviews (i love getting reviews, i'm not ashamed to admit it. it will make any writer's day to get a comment, i promise you.) **

Zevran awoke, and screwed up his eyes against the harsh midday sunlight. the air held a stifling quality, and he knew from the heavy way the air sat in his lungs, that a rainstorm was due. It would be welcome, help to cool and clear the air and hopefully make the climate a little more tolerable for his Ferelden friend.

His mood was light as he stepped out to find Luinet packing up for the day. The table had a filled fruit bowl laid out, and he selected an apple thoughtfully.

Luinet looked up, and straightened herself to her full height. Zevran carefully avoiding thinking that she did indeed remind him of a puffed up hen, and tipped his head in greeting. He noticed that her bag was rather bulky, especially for a bag she'd have to carry to and from the house.

_"Miss Luinet, these apples look very fine indeed. Will you take one away with you? I doubt we will be able to eat them all while they are at their best." _

The washerwoman quietly picked an apple, and put it inside her bag. Zevran was pleased to note that there were already at least two apples already present. He smiled warmly, and for a brief second, Luinet's lips stopped being quite so downturned. Then she seemed to remember that she did not much like the assassin, and started to turn on her heel and head for the door.

_"If I could beg your attention for one more moment? Did you pick up any wine...?" _

_"I didn't know which the master preferred, so I picked up some red and some white. The red is in the cupboards with the wine glasses, the wine is in the tub of water outside in the shade to keep it cool." _

Zevran was about to remark upon the basin where he and Aedan had bathed their feet when Luinet cut in; _"I did empty out the water, and refresh it, for your information." _

Holding up his hands in apology, the Antivan bit into his apple, pleased to find it fresh and crisp as it had looked.

_"My thanks. You are quite the find, if you do not mind me saying. You have forethought, and common sense. And I bet you are beautiful when you smile..." _Zevran lifted a finger to his face, and tapped it against his lip thoughtfully.

_"I think I shall open the red to breathe for myself and Aedan. He drinks red by habit, but I suspect he will find white wine enjoyable on hot evenings." _he spoke, more to himself than Luinet, who was still trying to make up her mind on how to react to his compliment. She decided against giving him a reply, and readied her things to leave.

Luinet hesitated, suddenly aware that she was about to leave the crow with a bottle of wine to poison.

Zevran raised an eyebrow at the little woman, as she hovered, trying to make up her mind whether to stay and safeguard Aedan, or leave the assassin and trust in his good intentions.

_"I would not wish to detain you... Besides, you would not wish to get soaked when the rains start."_ he said smoothly, continuing to munch on the apple.  
Luinet clasped her bag a little tighter, and gave a reluctant bow of her head at the elf. Much as she hated to admit, she found herself thinking that perhaps this crow assassin was not so bad. He did not seem to mind her taking liberties with the surplus shopping, and Aedan had not cut her wage back to something more fitting the work she performed. And no-one was dead yet.

"_I hope Master Aedan makes it back before the rains. Good day_."

As Luinet left, Zevran watched the sky. The gathering dark grey clouds, almost purple, blotted out the sun. He decided it would be an idea to have some towels warming by the stove, and the wine ready, just in case.

* * *

"This _sodding_ country!" Aedan's footsteps were moist as he came in, soaked through his thin shirt and trousers, his hair plastered against his face.

Zevran was sitting, drinking a glass of wine. Without a word and most definately not smirking, he got to his feet, and fetched the towels. He laid them on the table and poured Aedan a glass of wine.

Aedan took the top towel and began rubbing it across his head and hair, scowling slightly.

"It was fine when I left, just a little cloudy and cool enough to actually move on the streets. Then the rain hit... You could drown in rain like that." Though his words were bitter, they held no edge. Zevran thought he might even see the start of an bemused smile on Aedan's face as he brought his head from the towel.

The nobleman lifted a lidded earthware jug on the table, string tied round its rim as a handle, and Zevran saw that it steamed slightly. As Aedan striped his shirt off, Zevran moved behind him to wrap a second towel over his shoulders. He felt his confusion at the weather settle as Zevran started to slowly rub circles into his upper back.

"The rains in Antiva are somewhat intense. Still, soon you will be dry again, and see how the air seems so much clearer? The rains come quickly, but pass just as soon, and wash the dust and heat from the air. I had not thought you would go out, or I would have warned you against the oncoming downpour."

"I went to get you something..." Aedan gestured to the jug. Zevran took off the lid, and the air filled with the smell of rich fish soup.

"Its fish chowder, or as close as I could get given your wretched language..." he explained, as Zevran marveled at the gift. He went to bring through two bowls, and carefully poured the contents of the jug into them, pleased that the jug had retained the heat. Seeing the soup made him smile, though the fish chowder he remembered was a watery blend of fish tails and boiled potatoes, with whatever fish cuts would go off by the next next. This smelt as if it might have proper stock and cream in it, as well as onions, garlic and fresh fillet pieces. Zevran however appreciated that Aedan had listened, and sought out something he might like through an Antivan rainstorm, and decided to himself to add this discrepancy between the fish chowders to his internal list of things Aedan did not need to know.

Smiling, he brought the bowl to his lips, as Aedan dried off his sword, carefully wiping the moisture from the blade. This took longer than he would have liked, his hair dripping still onto his work, and eventually he gave up, placing the sword upon the table before moving to sit with Zevran, who was already halfway through his bowl.

Aedan was about to take a mouthful of the meal, when Zevran's eyes widened. The assassin was quick, and his arm darted out to knock the bowl from Aedan's hands.

The bowl smashed, and the grey warden fell into a defensive position, chair shoved aside and his fists clenched.

"Poison." Zevran gasped, through a mouth tightening with each breath. Aedan blinked, then jerked forward to steady Zevran as the elf lowered himself to the floor. He supported Zevran to sit against the wall, and then, brows deep with worry, he started to squeeze Zevran's left hand, which lay limp in his lap. Zevran opened his eyes, and managed a weak smile.

"I'll be fine... I have... some resistance to this one... I need water though..."

Zevran concentrated on keeping his breaths regular, as he heard Aedan work the handpump outside. Deathrot, he thought, partly concentrated. It would have had to be added last to the fish soup, the heat from cooking would have nulified the poison. He cursed himself for not recongising the taste, but he had been so pleased with the gift he had not thought to subject it to his usual checks. It showed, in a strange way, that he had trust in Aedan, and the idea that the nobleman might have tried to poison him had not crossed his mind. His lips had a slight blue tint when Aedan came back, freshly drenched.

He carefully lifted the water to Zevran, who drank in painful swallows. His eyes struggled to keep focus, and his breath was laboured. Aedan sat beside him, one hand helping him to drink, the other gripping the elf's hand. Slowly, his chest rose with less effort, and he briefly squeezed back Aedan's hand.

"Can you talk... do you need anything else?" There was a tightness to Aedan's voice, normally so low and commanding.

"It will pass, I think... So stop looking at me like I have an arrow through my neck."

"Was it the Crows?"

Zevran shook his head lightly, "They'd not use such a cheap poison. Where did you get the chowder?"

"A tavern, one on the waterfront. Why would they...?"

"You are not Antivan, and spend your coin freely. That makes you a target. I would guess some local lowlife decided to poison your food, then shadow you home. They will wait until they think you've eaten, then come and rob you in the night. Probably kill you as well, had the poison not worked... We can expect them to visit soon."

Aedan rose to his feet, and Zevran grabbed his damp trouser leg.

"Wait. We will wait for them. You'll not find them in the rain, and they will know the streets well enough to run away. Fear not, they will be held accountable, and with any luck, I'll even be able to hold a blade myself by the time they decide to show themselves."

So, under Zevran's instruction, they set up their ambush. Zevran elected to stay sitting, to give the impression of someone fallen to the ground. He had been given back his daggers, and it was reassuring to have the heavy metal fill his hands again. Aedan sat in a chair, slightly slumped but his sword ready. As they sat, the pounding rain eventually stopped.

"Hmm, there was a time," Zevran's voice was low, so someone listening at the door would not hear. Now he did not have to compete with the rain, he could at least ease their boredom with conversation as they waited, "when that particular poison would not have caused me such distress..."

"What do you mean?"

"Part of the crow training is to regularly take small amounts of poison, to build resistance."

"But I've seen the poisons you use... " Aedan's voice, just above a whisper, was incredulous.

"Oh, the experience is not pleasant, not by a long way. I remember I was ill for days after taking a drop of concentrated crow bane into a cut on my upper arm. And the less said about the fleshrot the better... "

Aedan scowled, remembering how Zevran had lain on a rack while in the fade, braving the pain for the sake of being able to join the Crows.

"How anyone survives the Crow training is a mystery."

Zevran chuckled quietly. "Building resistance has its advantages. For a start, if you have resistance you are less likely to kill yourself with a clumsy moment on your own dagger. That would be embarrassing for everyone. It also means you can drink the poison wine, or foodstuff, or whatever to put your more paranoid target at ease. Most nobles will not take anything until their companions have drank or eaten first."

"It still seems cruel."

"It is the way of the crow, the later benefits outweigh the harm done at the time."

Zevran fell quiet then, lost in thought. He made sure his breathing was just loud enough to reassure Aedan, and in the silence they both heard someone scratch at the front door with a set of lock picks.

The door swung open, and three sets of footsteps entered. The first crept over to where Zevran was, and when they tried to take the dagger from his belt his second dagger that he'd hidden under his body flashed upwards, catching the thief by the neck. As he spluttered backwards, clutching his neck and making a sickening wet noise, Aedan swung round, sword outstretched and catching the arm of one of the other assailants, who were surprised but not unarmed.

Aedan faced off against the wounded man, dressed in leathers dark from rainwater, while Zevran sprung to his feet, ignoring the sudden lightheadedness. He advanced towards the last man, who had backed into the kitchen while drawing weapons.

Even with a bleeding arm, the lightly armoured man was quick, so Aedan launched at him, giving him no room to manurer and letting his sword sink into his belly as he gasped out in shock. Aedan pulled back, and plunged the sword down again until his attacker stopped moving.

Zevran had his pressed against a wall, and had managed to kick one of his daggers from him. Wide eyed, the man dropped his remaining dagger, holding hands out to the elf.

_"I surrender!" _

As the first man gurgled his last, Zevran got a look at these opportunistic poisoners. With a sick sensation, he realised that he knew the face of the one looking at him, scared and desperate, same as the last time they had met.

_"You better talk quickly, for I have very little patience right now... Having to fend off amateur thieves in the night is somewhat irritating..." _

_"Zevran? Oh it is you... I had no idea, if I had known it was you, we would not have come." _

Zevran sighed and shook his head, gesturing for the man to shut up.

"_Is it just the three of you?" _

_"Yes." _

_"And why did you target the Ferelden?" _

_"We thought him an ignorant foreigner, and he had money enough to spend. Did not think him anyone important." _

Aedan was starting to walk over, shaking the blood from his sword and watching the two men in the kitchen intently.

Zevran took the brief moment where his captive glanced at the nobleman to slash in low, and the dagger glinting in the dim light before it delved into the man's chest. He gave a surprised cry, before falling to the ground. Aedan peered over his shoulder, scowling at the fallen men.

"Just the three?"

"Just the three. And now we have the merry task of dealing with their corpses."

Aedan looked at the blood splatters on the floor, not to mention the smashed soup bowl.

"The cleaning lady is not going to like this."

"_I_ don't like this..." Zevran said, picking the nearest bandit up by his arms and starting to drag him out to the front door.

"Wait.. what are you planning, dragging him to the sea?"

"No. I plan to leave them outside, as a warning to anyone else stupid enough to think you a hapless foreigner. And tomorrow I am going to teach you Antivan."

Zevran had to stop for breath sooner than he would have liked, and Aedan grumbled about having to fetch water to clean the floors himself, when he paid the washer woman to do that sort of thing. Zevran soothed him, by explaining that Luinet may well bring the whole house down with the amount of fuss she would raise over finding blood on the floors. They worked together, Aedan trying not to leap to Zevran's side every time he coughed, and the elf chatting lightly to stop Aedan from complaining about the task. Soon the floors were mopped clean, and the bodies deposited outside on the street.

Zevran got to his feet, feeling the last of the poison drain his energy. He suspected a good nights sleep would see him right, and said so to Aedan. He gave a little nod, and started to head to his room, when he heard Aedan shift behind him.

"Zevran.. one of the men. He said your name. Who was he?"

"You must be mistaken..."

Aedan stepped forwards, just a little intimidating, his hair wild from the storm and not being brushed as it dried, his eyes set into dark circles from working through the night.

"I may not know Antivan, but I heard your name. Who was he?"

"An unlucky bastard..."

Aedan let the elf walk by him and into his room, and then, having missed dinner, took the whole fruit bowl into his own room. Rather than dwell of why his assassin was keeping secrets from him, he tried to figure out how to eat the strange orange fruit, which seemed to be entirely peel and juice. He soon gave up in favour of the more familiar apples, devouring them hungrily. In the morning, he decided, he would speak with Zevran.

As dawn touched the sky with colour, Aedan was sleeping, window wide open to let the welcomely cool air in.


	6. Chapter 6

**continueing M/M story, based on dragon age by bioware. Antivan dialouge in italics. a rather complicated conversation in this chapter, see the end for notes to try and clarifiy if i have not made it clear enough. previous chapters have been reformatted to make it easier to read.**

Zevran had woken early, and was sitting on the window sill, deciding it would be better to greet Luinet and explain without her having to wake Aedan, who was soundly snoring from his room.

Luinet came in, pale, and immediately Zevran shushed her with a finger, flicking his hand at Aedan's door.

"_I'll explain, truthfully and completely, but I think that we should try to be civil about it. And quiet... quiet would be best." _

_"There are dead men on the doorstep...!" _Luinet hissed, glaring at Zevran intently.

_"Yes there are." _

"_**Why **__are there dead men on the doorstep?"_ still hushed, but rapidly grow infuriated by Zevran's attitude.

_"The master of the house took it upon himself to go fetch dinner. He showed too much coin, and was targeted by some scoundrels. They poisoned the meal, and then came creeping in in the dead of night. Myself and Aedan saw them off... permanently. I thought though a bit gruesome, they would give fair warning to the next set of idiots that decide to try and harm the master of the house." _

_"And you had nothing to do with it?" _

_"Much as it may surprise you, no. Aedan can attract his own trouble." _

Luinet gave the elf a sideways look, scrutinising him for the truth.

They both were startled when Aedan's door opened, and a refreshed looking Aedan, his hair tamed and his step light, emerged.  
"Ah, good to see you, I was just explaining the mess outside to Luinet."

"How is she taking it...?"

"Less screaming than I had thought, which i can only regard as a positive."

Luinet then roughly pushed Zevran aside, and came up to Aedan, who looked down.

"_You gots to be more careful, m'lord!" _

Zevran flashed a smile; " She says that you should be more careful. And calls you a lord."

"I am not a lord." Aedan said.

Zevran, struck by a wicked notion, turned to Luinet, "_he says; 'I was very careful not to get blood on my shirt.'." _

"_Blood on your shirt? You could have been killed!" _

The excrow turned to Aedan, and, mimicking Luinet's hand gestures, said; "Then what am I supposed to call you? I will not say your highness!"

Aedan's face flashed briefly with confusion, until he caught glimpse of Zevran's barely contained grin.

"Your highness does seem excessive, how about your majesty?" he said carefully, trying not to smile. He had no idea what Zevran was telling the little washer woman, but he was certain that Zevran was not translating accurately. It reminded him of the longs hours they'd spent on the longs of Ferelden, teasing Alistair or baiting Morrigan, he and Zevran taking it in turns to see who could either make Alistair blush or Morrigan run out of snide retorts. He'd had to buy all sorts of jewelry to pacify the swamp witch, while Alistair seemed to accept the little figurines they'd found on his travels as suitable apology. Soon, the joke became known, and Alistair bore the jibes with a certain amount of inevitability, occasionally surprising them all when he cut back with something witty. He seemed to understand that to make the endless hours of trailing blight-touched roads bearable for his companions, Aedan had to create some distraction. Morrigan however, had only walked further apart from the group, and set up her camp far from the others.

Zevran straightened his face as he turned to Luinet.

"_I suppose you won't approve then on my plans to head out and rile up some of the local ne'erdowells?" _

"_I most certainly won't!" _Luinet set her hands upon her hips, believing that Zevran was translating accurately, and that her current employer was indeed intent upon picking fights with most of the general population.

"I will not call you majesty!"

"If not majesty then perhaps you will settle for master of the house? "

"_Isn't it a happy coincidence that I have my friend elf here to fight alongside me then?" _

Luinet threw up her hands, unfortunately taken in by Zevran's sincere looks as she pointed an exasperated finger at Aedan, then at Zevran.  
"_You would do better to throw this sneaking murderer out with those corpses!" _

"Here was me thinking that the elf was the master of the house!"

Aedan looked at Zevran, and gave an over the top sigh.

"If I left the house care up to him, the whole place would look like a cheap brothel..."

"_Very well, I'll slit his throat as soon as we've had breakfast..." _

Luinet's brows tightened as Zevran finally burst into a hearty laugh, followed by Aedan. She shot Zevran a withering glare, before stomping off to the kitchen. Zevran winced dramatically as he heard Luinet clattering the ingredients for the day's bread with excessive force.

"I'd like to have a chat to Luinet and smooth things over. Will you wait for me outside?"

With his back turned to face Luinet, Zevran smiled as he heard Aedan work the water pump, to again fill the basin with water for soaking his feet. He sauntered to Luinet, resting lighting upon the countertop.

_"I apologise for making fun, and not including you in the joke. It was rude of me." _

_"Rude! If you think teasing little old ladies fun then I think you are beyond rude." _

Zevran pointed at Aedan, who had settled in a chair and was smiling openly.

_"If you will allow me to explain, you see that? He does not smile often, and last night was rather stressful. I saw that his mood could be lifted, and took that opportunity. But I see that I have offended you, and offer my sincere apology for that, as well as my gratitude for making Aedan smile." _

_"Humph! I suppose I am only the cleaning lady, and you can make fun of me whenever you like..." _She was bitterly mixing the flour, not looking at Zevran but scowling into the bowl. He could see her hands clasp the spoon only loosely, and knew that to knead the dough would cause her arthritic hands pain.

"_If I thought that to make fun of you was without consequence, would I be here apologising to you?" _

He left then, and Luinet herself slowed as she was mixing the flour, butter, salt, sugar, yeast and water together as she pondered over his words. When the elf appeared again at her side without warning or noise, she nearly batted him on the head with the doughy spoon in surprise.

_"Here, let me do that, your hands look like they could use a little rest. And perhaps some of these?" _He offered her a small package of one of the unused poultices. Luinet's eyes widened, she knew these to be expensive. She shook her head, speechless, but Zevran had already grasped one of her hands and was gently spreading the thick herbs across her knuckles.

She allowed him to take the other hand and repeat the action, the heat from the paste beginning to sooth her tightly curled fingers. She sat down, as Zevran rubbed off the paste from his own hands, then, started to knead the dough on the countertop. He risked a glance over his shoulder, saw that Luinet's mouth was open in disbelief, and shrugged.

"_One of my many talents is actual competency in the kitchen. I cannot say the same for Aedan however, avoid his cooking should he offer." _

Her mouth snapped closed and she frowned. "_Why are you doing this... looking after me I mean?" _

Zevran pausing briefly in kneading the dough, before delving his fingers again into the mix, talking with his back to Luinet.

"_Because I am grateful for you help in making him smile. As well as perhaps giving him a practical demonstration of why he should start to learn at least a little Antivan. Now that he has seen how easy it was to twist the conversation, he might be inclined to be taught. And a little knowledge of the language may serve to protect him." _

Luinet let herself relax into the chair, satisfied with the answer, and her hands pleasantly warm and comfortable.

_"You are a strange creature... Mister Crow."_ she commented, as she let the hard wood of the chair support her back.

_"Zevran, please. I am retired from the crows." _

_"Why did you not say that earlier?" _

_"Would you have believed?" _

_"No... but now I am not so sure. I have not ever heard of a crow being allowed to 'retire'." _

_"Ah... but you see, I am a strange creature, and thus not bound to the usual rules." _

Zevran gave a tip of his head to Luinet, as he took a piece of cloth outside. He returned with it dampened, and tossed it over the dough before setting it on the windowsill.

_"There, that should rise nicely. Now, if you will excuse me, I do believe myself and Aedan have a long overdue talk... a private talk." _He had not forgotten Luinet's previous attempts at spying, and knew this would be difficult, without Aedan having to worry about what might be overheard.

Luinet gave a short sharp nod, as if hovering in doorways had never once crossed her mind. She glanced at her hands, now feeling more flexible than they had in years.

_"Thanks. And.. apology accepted." _

* * *

Aedan squinted as he heard Zevran approach, the elf purposefully walking less than silently. Aedan had before complained of his habit of sneaking up on him, and threatened to put stones in his boots to make him audible. Zevran thought he had been joking, but had started to step with more force, just in case.

"So... what was that all about?"

Aedan laughed as Zevran recounted the conversation, as well as his mistranslations and Luinet's responses. As he finished, and Aedan grinned merrily, Zevran crossed his arms across his chest.

"Remind me to take your 'translations' with a pinch of salt in future." Aedan smiled at Zevran's antics, missing that the elf was now serious.

"If you learnt Antivan, you'd be able tell when I was being accurate. I still think this is something worth your time, you saw how easy it was to twist the words. I could of had you and Luinet each hear exact what you wanted, nevermind what the other was saying."

"I tried to learn, but your language is too sodding difficult."

"I will help, and learning will not be so arduous. I'll make it **fun**." he raised an eyebrow, and gave Aedan a wicked wink.

"Hmm, I think I like the sound of that. Was that your plan all along, to prove a point?"

Zevran stretched his arms out behind his head, yawning.

"Perhaps I was a little devious... Luinet has accepted that it was all in good fun however, and it distracted her rather admirably from the dead people outside."  
Aedan cocked his head at the elf, devious did not begin to describe the assassin, who he was sure had half a dozen other plots forming in his head. His flippant attitude hid a brilliant cunning, and quick wit, but it worried him that Zevran was not beyond manipulating the situation to further his own goals. He decided to change the subject, lest he linger on that disturbing notion.

"You know, I do believe you spent more time talking to the cleaning lady, than you do to me." There was a tone of jealousy, which Zevran found sweet, if rather laughable. Minding himself, he pulled his chair closer to Aedan, not betraying any sign of mirth.

"So let us remedy that. You seem in good form this morning. Do you think it is the clearer air, or the fact you were able to launch into combat last night?"

Aedan straightened slightly, as he watched Zevran perch upon a chair across from him. Just, he noticed, out of striking range.

"You think me that bloodthirsty?"

"I think you have been fighting hard for most of your life, and that to stop so suddenly might be peculiar to you."

Aedan stroked his chin, mulling the idea over; "What would you suggest?"

"Sparring practice. We could clear these chairs into the house, there would not be a lot of space, but room enough I think."

Aedan nodded, then leaned forwards. "Ok, my turn. You want to teach me Antivan... Are you intending to leave?"

Zevran blinked, aware that Aedan was starring at him.  
"No. I have no plans to leave."

"Then.. what **are** your plans?"

Zevran tipped his head to one side, letting hair fall over his ear.

"Like yourself, I find myself rather at a loose end. I believe the crows will not bother me further, and so my purpose in coming to Antiva is complete."

Aedan licked his lips, and in a quiet voice; "And the man last night... The one who knew your name?"

"Dealt with."

"But who was he? A crow?"

Zevran nodded, a little irritated that Aedan was perusing this question.

"A crow. A stupid crow who thought he might make a bit of money from a stranger. He was acting on his own."

Aedan watched Zevran intently, and took a deep breath.

"I know you are not telling me everything... It makes it hard to trust in what you are saying. Tell me, who was he, a lover?"

Zevran raised both brows; "Are you jealous, perhaps?"

Aedan's face twisted, "Should I be?"

"No. He is not my type, being, as you may remember, rather dead." Zevran tried to smile, though he could feel Aedan's anger build.

"Zevran..." that voice, low and threatening.

"Aedan, you can growl all you like. It will not work on me." The assassin stood, defiant, refusing to be threatened to silence.

"Then stop trying to deflect me, give me a straight answer."

"Will you grant me the same courtesy? You have been evasive over several subjects yourself... Highever, for example..."

They sat, though both were tense enough they could have been standing. Eyes fixed upon each other, breath just a little quick and shallow, as if they were sparring with weapons rather than words.

Zevran took a deep breath, and held out his hands.

"An answer for an answer perhaps? I shall go first. The man, I didn't know his name, even then, was a crow. It seems he has fallen into common thievery. He knew my name, because I have become somewhat infamous. Especially among the Crow. I was scared, that you would think I had set you up, if you know his connection to the crows."

Aedan gave a soft sigh, and nodded. "I sacrificed the city of Amaranthine to stop the spread of darkspawn. It is gone, burned to the ground. That's why we cannot return to Ferelden."

"Oh..." Zevran said quietly, struggling to take in the magnitude of Aedan's actions. To be effectively exiled from your homeland, when you had spent years fighting unimaginable odds for it, explained his reluctance to talk on the topic.

Something between then shifted, that they had shared secrets and neither come to blows gave them something solid to hold on to, to base trust upon.

Zevran rose first, and gently put his hands on either side of Aedan's face, lifting the lowered eyes upwards. "I think.. I think I need no more answers."

He leaned in and kissed Aedan, lips closed at first, but as Aedan warped a firm arm round behind his head and pulled him closer he let the hot tongue slip inside his mouth.

They kissed until they were breathless. Aedan found himself smiling, as Zevran broke away.

"Breakfast." he said, noting that Aedan's stomach was grumbling quietly. Aedan agreed heartily, and they joined Luinet in the kitchen, where she had laid out some yoghurt and fruit on the table.

Aedan did not even mind that Zevran insisted on having him repeat the Antivan for everything in the bowl, as well as 'table', 'spoon' and 'chair' before he would let them eat.

* * *

Through the morning, Zevran patiently tutored Aedan in Antivan. Aedan suffered the dull repetition with a degree of tolerance, but as Zevran corrected his stumbling attempts, he grew more restless.

"You said..." he muttered, after failing to pronounce the difference between 'good morning' and 'good afternoon', "that this would be fun..." Aedan made a crude mimic of Zevran's tone and wink.

Zevran flashed a grin. "I did, didn't I. Ok, change of scenery. Come with me."

Zevran led Aedan into his room, but pushed him back when Aedan tried to pull him into a kiss.

"Sit." he said, shaking his head firmly and gesturing to the chair. Aedan, curious, sat down, and watched Zevran with anticipation. He thought the elf had likewise tired of teaching, and they had come into his room for a 'break'. Zevran perched upon the bed, his hands on his lap and looking very much like the cat that had swallowed the pigeon.

"Let us see how much you have retained. What is this?" he pointed to his shirt.

_"Shirt." _Aedan said, wondering what the elf was planning. When Zevran gave a bright nod, and start to undo the lacing, he understood.

More words, Aedan naming the table, wine and chair in Antivan, each time Zevran pulling his shirt to reveal just a little more skin.

"Good..." Zevran beamed, and lifted the shirt off entirely. Seeing the flesh, smooth and enticing, Aedan got up from the chair, reaching for his lover. He was surprised to see Zevran lift his foot, and plant a boot firmly on his chest, pushing the nobleman back towards the chair.

"Good morning?" he prompted, and Aedan gave a short tut of impatience.

"_Good afternoon_." he said, then, when he realised his mistake, "Sorry. _Good morning_."

Zevran let his hands slip to his boots, and slowly, as Aedan worked through his limited Antivan, pulled each off, placing them with exaggerated care by the bed. He could see Aedan's stance shift on the chair, and caught a glimpse of his forming erection. He had to admit some small pleasure at teasing his grey warden in this way.  
"_Good morning, my name is Zevran_."

"_Good morning, my name is Aedan_." Aedan said, and watched as Zevran started to loosen his trousers, softly stroking either side of the fabric as he undid the buttons. He wiggled his hips as he let the trousers, then his small clothes drop to the floor, stepping out from them and stretching before Aedan, shameless and enjoying the strained look on Aedan's face as the nobleman tried to keep the morning's lessons to mind.

"What did we have for breakfast?"

"F_ruit, bowl_... and...and... sod it!"

Aedan was fast, and grabbed Zevran, arms wrapped around him, hips pressing against him, letting him feel his need. Zevran gave a brief half hearted attempt at pushing Aedan back to the chair, but the grey warden stood immovable, clutching the assassin with a desperate hunger. He gave a wolfish grin, as he held the elf in his arms.

_"Wall." _he said, and with a smooth movement, pinned Zevran with his back up against the stone. Arching against the wall, Zevran found he could hardly move, Aedan's weight holding him steady as the grey warden started to struggle out of his too-tight trousers. His hands drawing red lines as his fingernails ran down Aedan's spine, the elf could not stop the soft gasp as Aedan pressed his hips against his, naked skin hot to the touch.

Rocking his body in to lean against Zevran, Aedan touched his lips to Zevran's neck, taking soft sweet nibbles, working up to his ear. He breathed over it, feeling the assassin's breath hitch as he deliberately paused, teasing back now. He ran his teeth up the edge of the pointed tip, and down again as he puled the lobe into his mouth, sucking, then biting.

Zevran felt his knees start to grow weak, and twisted to give Aedan a pointed look. The oil lay out of reach, and with a reluctant growl Aedan pulled himself back. He turned back to see Zevran, flushed, but still standing against the wall. A slender finger beckoned him, and he dove back, swallowing grateful, needful kisses from his partner. The grey warden felt Zevran lift one leg from the floor, allowing Aedan to support them both against the wall. One hand steadied himself on Aedan's board shoulder, the other snaked down and helped Aedan with the jar, tossing it to the bed when Aedan had fully covered his manhood.

He allowed Zevran to guide him, the assassin's experience overcoming his doubts about this unusual position, but as he pressed in, and felt Zevran's hips knock back against the wall, he gave a low moan. Zevran too, felt no give between him and the wall, and as Aedan slowly pushed past his tight muscles, he found it hard to draw breath. It was intense, and as Aedan began to pump into his body, slow at first then faster as the noble lost his restraint, Zevran let out repeated gasps and pleas for more, some in Ferelden, some in Antivan.

Forehead resting upon a golden chest, Aedan moved one hand to under Zevran's leg, encouraging it to lift like the other. When Zevran did, he locked his ankles around his grey warden, pulling against the small of his back with each trust. Zevran felt Aedan take his weight, and though his hips were spread uncomfortably, the angle allowed Aedan to drive deeper, bringing Zevran out in a series of uncontrollable shudders as he neared his climax.

He came first, his seed spurting between their sweat-dewed chests. Aedan followed, with a silent cry and rush of heat inside. He tried to lower Zevran before his own legs gave way, but slumped partway, dragging the elf with him. They lay on the floor, leaning against the wall, Aedan draping an arm over Zevran, and his eyes almost closed. Zevran moved to get a cloth to clean up, but Aedan held him.

"... just a moment more." he mumbled, voice soft with satisfaction.

Zevran allowed himself to curl into the embrace, willing to forgo his usual cleanliness for Aedan's sake.

Eventually, Aedan loosened his grip, and Zevran went to his washhand basin upon the table. Zevran was glad for the water, though leftover from last night. He quite liked that he and Luinet had managed to achieve an understanding of each other, and thought that walking out to get fresh water might in such a state well cause all manner of awkwardness.

As he wiped himself clean, Aedan got to his feet, and let himself drop onto the bed. Taking the damp wash cloth when Zevran was finished, he shifted to the side. Zevran lay down, resting his head on his hands, careful not to elbow Aedan in the face.

"You," Aedan said quietly, "are a ridiculously awesome teacher."

Zevran gave a pleased smirk, and closed his eyes, his chest rising and falling in slow steady breathes, in time with his grey warden's.

**NOTE: the conversation between the three characters, Aedan, Zevran and Luinet is complex, due to there being three voices involved, as well as the Ferelden/Antivan language barrier. Luinet is speaking directly to Aedan, and letting Zevran translate. Zevran is not translating accuratly, instead making up his own statements. When Aedan speaks back, Zevran again is being used to translate, while he changes the cntent of Aedan's speech, pretending that Aedan is talking about blood on his shirt, and picking fights with the locals. So there are two conversations happening at the same time, both being orcrastrated by the wicked Zevran.**

**it should read: 'what luinet says'**

**'what zevran tells aedan luinet is saying, changed to suit the assassin.'**

**'aedan's reply to zevran's mistranslation.'**

**'zevran giving luinet a responce apparently coming from aedan'**

**'luinet's responce.'**

**and so on. hopefully that clears up any confusion, if not, do let me know (i do not mind getting messages or PMs at all, especially if they will help me make the story better). ****also, let me know if the reformatting makes reading easier, or if it is a pest due to the heavy dialouge content, and thus a lot of scrolling needed.**

**thanks for reading, hope you enjoy. i know i grinned far too much writing this chapter.**


	7. Chapter 7  Things left unsaid

**a slightly different format here, quite heavy emotional narative. back to normal by next chapter. continued thanks for reviews. **

Things left unsaid

Zevran knew Aedan was not sleeping, his breaths were just a little too forced, and if he stilled his own breathing he could hear Aedan hold his own in response. Taking a nap during the hottest hours of the day was common in Antiva, and he wondered just how long Aedan would be able to resist the lull of the warm air and soft bed. It was an issue of trust, he knew that much. Aedan was not one to allow people close to him, especially in his moments of vulnerability. He would not let his guard down if he did not trust those around him.

Zevran was used to being kept at an emotional arm's reach, no-one in their right mind would actually go as far as to place trust in an assassin. Respect and fear, but never trust. Aedan however, had appreciated his open manner, right from when he had told the details of who had hired him on the assassination attempt. It had taken time, but slowly, Aedan had started to believe in the Antivan. It had been a strange sensation at first, almost a burden. It reminded him too much of Rinna, and the conflicting desire to push Aedan back to a more comfortable distance, or draw him closer kept him awake many nights.

It was on those nights, he had plotted how he would complete his mission, detailing how he might go about murdering the camp. Poison in the food, nothing deadly, but something to dull the senses and slow the mind. Harder to detect, and less dangerous should someone not eat and give away his treachery. He would take down Morrigan first, her far off camp would mean he could cut her down and hide her, and walk back without anyone being wiser. Wynne next, or Leianna, both long range attacks would leave him exposed, but he guessed he would be able to approach them easily, feigning a wish to discuss something private. With luck, both would be dead before he had to start making his moves out in the open.

He would kill Oghren, who would hopefully be an easy target, passed out near his tent, then the dog, before the beast was able to smell the blood in the air. By then the alert would have been raised, and he'd have to face off against the giant. Sten was a fearsome warrior, but slowed by his attachment to that heavy two-handed blade. The assassin was quicker, and would be able to daze the qunari and plunge a dagger into his neck and into his chest, like so many ogres. Alistair would charge blindly when he saw Zevran's true colours, and get himself caught in one of the traps he would have laid out. He'd be able then to circle the ex-templar, and cut into his exposed back.

That left Aedan. Strong and fast, powerful, Zevran was not sure he could best the warrior. In their sparring matches, it had tended to be even who claimed the point. Zevran sometimes managed to strike in where Aedan wasn't guarding, and Aedan could often overpower Zevran, forcing him to the ground, both daggers deflected by his blade. Aedan might suffer the effects of the poison, but Zevran would be tired from the fight. He had never planned out what might happen next, the idea of turning his daggers on Aedan sitting uncomfortably in his mind.

He never admitted these thoughts and plans, not to anyone. He had come close, to either slitting Aedan's throat in the night and disappearing, or taking on the whole campsite, but each time he would look at the grey warden nobleman, his eyes deep and hair tinged with auburn, hinting at the rage and the passion contained within. At the sight, his murderous impulses would leave him, but then fill his head with a whole new torrent of thoughts, keeping him from sleep still.

These thoughts were complicated, to this day, Aedan's very presence seeming to unravel all the emotions Zevran thought he had mastered. He had hoped to regain the grip he once possessed, when he had left. Like taking poison, he had thought that cutting all ties would hurt, but that the wound would heal given time. As well as grant him strength against it in future. It seemed ironic that his crow training would not leave him, that he thought this the best course of action.

Of course, Zevran could not rid himself of Aedan. He had found himself selecting men of a certain build, strong, with red/brown hair as a preference, as bedding partners. He would teach them words in Ferelden, and call them by His name, and pretend. Pleasant distractions, at the time, but those conquests leave him uneasy, longing for the real thing. He would not sleep with those men a second time, instead moving on, trying to leave behind the ache he felt but refused to name.  
He wondered if Aedan had felt the same, in the long months they were apart. True, Aedan masked his emotions, letting them churn inside him, rather than deny them as was Zevran's tactic. For the first time, Zevran wondered if it was perhaps his fault that Aedan seemed so changed, his anger like a poison in his veins. He could blame Aedan's inner anger, or even the darkspawn taint, but none of these could have hurt Aedan as deeply as leaving without so much as a word.

It could not have been easy, to be left with no-one and a further impossible duty to perform. The sudden departure could have seem a vicious parting blow, or a callous action showing that he did not care for what Aedan might feel for him. Zevran had not though enough of himself that someone would come to care for him, that by leaving he could cause pain and distress, rather than relieve and freedom.

If that was the case, then perhaps Aedan could be healed. It might take time, and require a show of truthfulness, but Zevran though he might be able to earn back the trust he had once held.

But there was one thing Zevran could not tell Aedan.

The man, the crow that had come to the house and tried to poison them, was not just a crow.

He remembered how he had come creeping in through a window one night months ago, when the crows were still sending assassins after him. they had fought. When he lay, defeated on the ground and waiting for death, Zevran offered him a chance to leave the crows. He had gladly taken it, and Zevran had bade him good luck. His fighting skills had not improved, and it seemed that in releasing him from the crow control, he had just let a murderer loose upon the streets of Antiva.  
He should have known better, an assassin can hardly change overnight, and take up an honest trade. He had not foreseen that the crows he had let go would continue their dark and shady undertakings, and only now he realised the great wrong he had done. Worse, he had been trying to do something _good_. The bitter sting of the truth irked him, and he doubted that even with his silver tongue, he'd be able to convince Aedan of his honourable intentions. So it lay, buried inside along with all the mistakes of his life.

Unleashing a fleet of assassins into his homeland had been a mistake, leaving Aedan had been a mistake, letting Aedan knock him out in the market place had been a terrible mistake. Now, he could not help but wonder if perhaps he was making a grievous error in staying.

He trusted in Aedan, despite the nobleman's own disendevours, and in doing so, he realised he left himself open and without his defences. He'd nearly been poisoned, when he allowed his guard to drop. He had nearly been too slow to stop Aedan from striking him, when Aedan had allowed his control to slip. He did not know if he could depend upon his luck definitely, and he did not know if Aedan could keep his promise to keep a tighter hold on his rage.

Zevran trusted in Aedan, but he also believed that grey warden would follow through on his threats to hound him should he leave a second time. He'd seen the possessive gleam in his eyes, and in truth, it frightened him.

Should he wish to leave, he would need to make sure that Aedan was not able to pursue. That thought sent a chill through him, as he realised he already had a set of plans and schemes for assassinating Aedan, should ever the need arise...

Perhaps, he reflected, it was best Aedan did not sleep in his presence.

* * *

Aedan could feel Zevran laying by him, lighting pressing against his shoulder with his elbow. The elf seemed to be cat napping, but occasionally made little pained noises under his breath, as if having a bad dream.

He was struck by how irritating the sounds were, and was able to give Zevran a sharp shove when he caught himself.

He was managing to catch himself from these urges to lash out at the slightest provocation more these days, for Zevran's sake. The thought had he had to keep such a close watch on himself was unnerving though, and he wondered why his nerves constantly felt stretched to breaking point.

Even when facing off against an archdemon, the blight on their heels and their nights rest disrupted by shrieking darkspawn, he had not felt so.. overwhelmed. It was like a never ending battle against his own mind, dark resentment twisting his memories of his companions into something bereft of the fondness he had held for them. He wondered if he was strong enough to stand against such onslaught.

For Zevran, he would try. Though he would not share his turmoil. He doubted the assassin could begin to understand, and he was not sure he could express these thoughts without sounding as deranged as Leianna. No, some things could not be spoken about.

Like how he had taken a sick pleasure in having Zevran writhe beneath him, bound and protesting. Something in the way he'd held Zevran at his complete control, that he could take from the elf without consent as he whimpered helplessly, it fed some dark urge. He regretted it, and every day wished he could undo the damage he'd wrought. That Zevran could bare to look at him at all was a blessing, that he willing lay with him was nothing but miraculous. The memory had not faded though, and the hunger for being able to dominate him again remained. Slowly, he could felt it begin to gnaw at him once more.

He knew something was wrong, something dark and unhinged within himself. Without blight, or darkspawn, or even hunting down the assassin across Antiva to distract him, he could sense it. Even in the peaceful afternoon, he was tense.

It would be better if he could pinpoint the cause. He'd been assuming it sourced from Zevran, and that way he had left, but now he was not sure. His trust in the assassin was restored, partly, at least. He still wondered if Zevran did not have some ulterior motive for staying with him, or a secret plan to leave him again, but such paranoid thoughts seemed groundless as he contemplated the elf's recent actions. So there had to be something else, something unresolved continuing to weight upon him.

The fact that he had been made a hero, yet then held accountable for the drastic measures needed to save the land, that did not sit well with Aedan Cousland. He had given everything for Ferelden, for the grey wardens. Alistair may have ended the blight with his life, but Aedan had lost his future, and had to live knowing he would never have any chance at a normal existence. A life not soaked in blood, the stains upon his being that would not wash away.

Some small part of him felt that he was due his dark desires. That after saving them all, the least the people could do was grant him his happiness, in whatever form it took. He was the hero of Ferelden, hated or not, he should be able to take some of what had been denied him back. Forcefully if need be. If he wanted a certain elf, contained and caged, for his pleasure, who would really dare challenge him?

Yet, Zevran did not deserve that.

Aedan gave a long sigh. Was he tempting fate, allowing Zevran to stay beside him when he harboured such thoughts? Perhaps, it would be better to let Zevran go, and save him from these dangerous inclinations. He did not know if he could bare to lose the elf again, did not know if he could bring himself to release the assassin, even to save him. And he did not think the elf would leave willingly. Zevran would not say it out loud, but it was clear he cared for Aedan, despite all that had transpired.

Entangled together, hopelessly knotted emotions, Aedan and Zevran were bound by their shared past, and neither would let go. Both were too sodding stubborn.  
Aedan feared that this might be to their detriment. Zevran would not give up on Aedan, even if the anger inside him grew beyond his control. His hold on it even now was fluctuating at best, and he could not count on being able to contain it indefinitely.

But... Zevran was no victim. He had survived crow training, and the hazardous life of an assassin. Aedan knew there was a limit to what he would stand, and once pushed past those boundaries... Zevran would fight back.

Aedan Cousland had done the necessary to end the blight before it could truly begin, if it came to it, he knew he could count on the assassin to put a stop to _him_ before he had a chance to hurt the elf again. In this, he had complete trust in Zevran.

* * *

As the afternoon wore on, they lay, side by side, with the weight of things left unsaid hanging over them. Eventually, Zevran gave a long stretch, and sat up. Aedan continued to breath deep and slow, his eyes closed. Not sleeping but not fooling the assassin.

Silently, Zevran got up to leave, intending to wash under the water pump. As he tiptoed out the door, he cast a lingering look back at the warrior. He looked at peace, at least, and he idly wondered what the grey warden was contemplating to grant him such a serene air.


	8. Chapter 8

**sentences in italics are in Antivan. Aedan has a growing knowledge, but still is very much new to the language.**

Aedan had the most atrocious accent, and always sounded slightly drunk when he spoke Antivan, but he was slowly picking up the various nuances of the language. Luinet made a valiant effort to understand when he spoke, but Zevran occasionally had to step in as translator. He was always accurate in his translations now, not least because he noted Aedan listening intently, and learning what he had muddled. More often than not, he only made the same mistake once, before being able to correct it for the next time.

Luinet had stopped scowling whatever Zevran walked into the room. She did not seem to mind in the slightest that the elf had taken it upon himself to make bread every morning, which meant he shared the kitchen space with her. She offered to make sure bread was on her shopping lists, but Zevran actually found he enjoyed the act of making the bread, and was always gratified when Aedan cut thick slices to drip in the flavoured oils at mealtimes.

Some local militias, looking very uneasy, had approached the house a day after the bandits were left outside. They listened as Zevran explained that Aedan had acted in self defence, and also explained that he was trying to teach the Ferelden the language and customs to prevent further incident. Aedan had stood, silently holding his sword as Zevran spoke, and the militias seemed grateful when Zevran finished and allowed them to leave. The bodies disappeared shortly afterwards, but Luinet reported that the marketplace was full of rumours of the white house upon the hill, where a mad warrior from overseas lived, and would cut down anyone who as much as stepped foot on the doorway without an invite. She seemed almost proud of being able to tell of the mysterious stranger.

At breakfast, Zevran would invite her to sit, and they would concoct new dreadful tales together, about how Aedan only came out of his room at night, or had once shouted so loudly that a clay jug had broke. Aedan wondered that this was not going a bit too far, but Zevran reassured him that these sorts of stories were part of marketplace gossip, and would be just as effective as a deterrent as a whole street full of dead thieves. As well as a lot less messy.

Aedan took to the suggestion of sparring sessions with a growing degree of enthusiasm. Zevran had forgotten just how quick he needed to be to dodge Aedan's blows, even when pulled to avoid injury. Aedan swung the sword with practiced and smooth sweeps, the blade a blur as the nobleman held off Zevran and his twin daggers. Luinet had watched, called over by Zevran, one morning. She had witnessed the two dance back and forth, and as Zevran thought, her fears are allayed. Both men were vicious, and fought at a speed she could hardly follow. She knew then, that it would take something akin to a small army to even threaten the nobleman and the elf.

Zevran had learnt new tricks, which he delighted in demonstrating. He'd kick against a wall, and come at Aedan at a speed and an angle that the warrior was not prepared for. He would jump into the air, and twist out of the arch of Aedan's defence, coming to land beside him with a dagger playfully poking into his ribs. When backed into a corner, he clambered up the wall, perching upon the roof and making the gesture of leveling an arrow down at Aedan.

Aedan had also improved. He could swing his sword with either hand now, claiming a much wider radius. He would push past any defence Zevran attempted with ease, taking a blow to an arm as he drove forward. After a particularly grueling match, he grudgingly switched to a blunted blade, when Zevran had found his arm bleeding. While binding his arm, reassuring both Aedan and Luinet that it was a little cut, and nothing to fret over, Zevran realised that Aedan was taking at least a couple of hits in each bout. He'd chalked his daggers, also blunted, and Aedan was often covered in little lines of white by the end of their sessions. He did not mention that even though more often than not Aedan was claiming the point, should it be a true fight, and Zevran using poison, by the end they'd both probably be dead.

* * *

It was a bright day, Aedan already complaining about the heat, a damp towel warped over his shoulders, his shirt cast off in efforts to keep cool, when Luinet came in, her usual cheer dissipated.

_"Master Aedan, someone is looking for you." _

Zevran removed himself from a lump of particularly sticky bread dough, and stood attentive, as Luinet described a big man, skin tanned but not Antivan, with a funny accent. He frowned at Aedan, not recognising the description. Aedan likewise shook his head.

"_Did they say more? Why looking for me?" _

_"Didn't get so close as to ask, but I overheard him. He knew master Aedan's full name, and a pretty accurate description. Fortunately, everyone down there thinks Aedan stands 8 foot tall, and has blazing red hair, and skin pale as death. And has no name... But it won't be long before someone connects that the man is looking for a Ferelden, and that Aedan is a stranger to these parts." _

Zevran translated some of the more complicated parts of Luinet's reports, and rubbed his hands quickly, ridding himself of the dough.

"With your permission, I can go down and cast my eyes about, and try and get a look at this man. See if I can find out anything, or tell where he might have sprung from."

Aedan looked at Zevran, who was already straightening his shirt. He and the elf had taken a couple of brief strolls to the market, usually by night when the air was cooler, and walking less arduous. They had sat in taverns, and drank wine, Aedan practicing his Antivan, Zevran checking their drinks. Zevran had not yet gone out without Aedan.

"Take your daggers, and some coin, just in case." Aedan said slowly. If Zevran wanted to leave, now would be the prefect time. Aedan would be distracted by this newcomer, and Zevran would have a decent head start. He took a deep breath, placing his faith in the assassin to return.

Zevran recognised the effort it took Aedan, and gave a smile. He gave a short nod to Aedan, then to Luinet, and heading out the door, still fastening his belt as he walked, hoping to be able to catch up with the strange man in the marketplace.

* * *

The marketplace was busy, and Zevran could see no signs of any outsider, bar the usual influx of sailors and merchants from the shipping yard. A couple of stall holders did report seeing a man of Luinet's description, and told him that the man had dark hair, and was clean shaven. Then, one showed him the coin he had used to buy a waterskin.

_"Orlasian? Was the man an Orlasian?" _

_"Could be, could be. Spoke Antivan, spoke it well, but accent was a bit off. Like he was singing sort of." _

Zevran remembered Leianna's sign-song lilt, and nodded his head.

_"Could I have the same type of waterskin please, on a hot day like this, it seems wise."_ he asked, producing a couple of coppers from his belt. The stallholder seemed delighted at the business of the morning, and waved Zevran off happily.

Waterskin in hand, and already running through a list of poisons that could not be tasted through water, Zevran stopped off at the herbalist. The herbalist must have assumed him an operating crow, as she asked no questions about the plants he bought, despite them having names like feverflower and rashvine. She did not wave at him as he left.

Ducking into an alley, using the wall itself to crush the plants against, he carefully flicked the resulting juices into the waterskin with the tip of his dagger, taking care not to get any on his hands. It was delicate work, and the sense of urgency he felt only seemed to make the plants more reluctant to grind properly. As he was finished, content that the volume he had collected would be enough to render anyone unconscious within a few mouthfuls, he heard movement behind him. He turned slowly, to see two male figures, swaying just a little, blocking his exit.

"Aw lookit.. a poor little elf, out all on his lonesome. An' the captain looking for a new cabin boy after the last one... broke..." The words were a drunken drawl, and the men stank of seawater and ale. Swords were produced, Zevran trying not to grimace as one clashed against the wall, as its owner misjudged the enclosed space. Zevran took a step back, letting the lack of light from the surround building hide his movements as he brought both daggers into reverse grips. The men followed him, and as one reached for him, hand first thinking the elf unarmed and backing away, Zevran jabbed it with the dagger, cutting through the palm. As the first man clutched his hand, staggering backwards, he caught himself on his companion's side, knocking them both off balance. Zevran grabbed the man, and swung him round to hit the wall where he had been working, the surface still damp with plant extracts. The man swung back around, and had his sword arm promptly sliced. Then he started to shake, and fell to his knees, retching.

The first man by now had managed to walk backwards, and opened his mouth to raise a cry of alarm. Zevran leap onto him, and made him swallow a dagger instead, plunging it deep with both hands.

Zevran had to pry his blade from the dead man's mouth, and then looked over to where the other had curled, on the ground, no longer moving. He was alive, and Zevran hesitated for a second before remedying that. Gathering his things and forcing a bright unconcerned smile to his face, he stepped out from the alleyway, waterskin in hand. He filled it at the communal water pump, quietly washing his hand from a stray splatter of blood as he made small talk with the others gathered there. He walked, with a deceptively causal pace, and headed back to Aedan.

* * *

Aedan was taking a glass of lemon, honey and water, which he was developing a taste for, after Zevran assured him that the lemon was supposed to be bitter. He took it with more honey than both Zevran and Luinet used put together, but it was refreshing, and cutting the lemons gave him something to occupy himself with as he waited Zevran's return. He wanted his senses sharp, and the tang of the lemon served better than the warming sedation of wine.

When the door was knocked upon, he put down the glass and lifted his sword, waiting on the table. He gestured Luinet to open it, and immediately felt his skin crawl as a dark haired man walked inside.

He'd not felt the taint in months, and it was strange to feel it again, within the grey warden standing there. He gave a nod of recognition, and lowered his sword.

"Greetings, grey warden Aedan Cousland, of Ferelden. I am Marcel, of the Orlasian grey wardens, but I hale from Weisshaupt. I apologise for my intrusion. Might we speak?" He spoken in Ferelden, and soft tones. He was well dressed, presented as if addressing a noble house. His formality seemed almost mocking to Aedan, though he guessed it was an attempt at excessive politeness.

_"You may go home today."_ Aedan said to Luinet, eyeing the visitor. She gave a stiff bow to both him, and his guest, and swiftly packed her things to leave. She planned to try and catch Zevran, who was still out wandering, and alert him to the visitor.

Aedan moved round to the table, pulling out a chair for the grey warden, before sitting across from him, the hard wood surface of the table between them. From this position, he'd also be able to watch the front door, for Zevran when he came back, or for other grey wardens, though he could not sense any beyond the room. He suspected that he'd been located from his own taint, that or one of the marketplace gossips had pointed the way.

"State your business."

"Aedan, I realise the events surrounding your joining of the order were... unique, to say the least. Your accomplishments speak of your great courage in battle, and dedication to the order. We are, of course forever grateful to yourself, and Alistair, for your efforts against the archdemon and-"

"Get to your point, if you have one." Aedan had an inkling of what Marcel was here about, and did not think that the flattery would soften the news.

Marcel coughed, and lay his hands either side of him. His sword was peacebound with leather cord, as well, Aedan noted. Marcel was making a lot of effort to not appear a threat, or in any way aggressive. It was... interesting.

"Amaranthine. We heard the reports, but by the time we could mobilise and send aid, you were already gone."

"There was a darkspawn incursion. Talking darkspawn. They are dealt with."

"Yes, I read the reports, and received full accounts from the grey wardens at Highever. It was you however, that we wanted to see."

Aedan raised both hands, locking the fingers and resting his chin upon them. It was the only way he could keep his hand from his sword hilt.

"You and Alistair, you were both new to the order, and did not have the guidance and training normally given to new recruits. It starts at about 6 months, after completing the joining. Special training... to deal with the taint."

"No-one has mentioned anything like this before..."

"Regrettably, everyone either assumed you had already taken part in the training, or did not feel they could raise such an issue with one of your... rank."

Aedan let his breath out slowly. He remembered how he had stamped up and down the halls of Highever, his temper hot and high. He had not exactly been approachable... Marcel gave him a look, something almost akin to pity. Aedan squared his shoulders.

"You want me to get this training now I suppose."

"Your experiences with an actual blight, and your great skills would make you an excellent source of learning for future grey wardens... and yes, you would receive the training. You need it."

"Explain."

Marcel held firm, and did not shirk from Aedan's piecing gaze. He had been warned about the nobleman, and his manner, and his temper, but nothing compared to sitting, not a full sword's length away, being glared at with such intensity.

"The taint affects grey wardens. We take on the taint to allow us power to sense darkspawn, and to end blights. It has its cost though, it shortens ours lives. You know this?"

Aedan nodded.

"The taint will run rampant through your system without the proper techniques to combat it. It will poison your mind, at a speed of days rather than years. It will corrupt you, and turn you into the thing you have sworn to stop."

"I will turn into a darkspawn?" Aedan's voice held scorn, but his eyes were suddenly fixed upon Marcel.

"Worse, a darkspawn wearing a human skin."

"So, you want me to go to... Weisshaupt? The grey warden headquarters. Get this... 'special training'. Probably take on some lofty title to show me how grateful you all are that I dealt with the blight so you did not have to dirty your hands...? No."

"No?" Marcel seemed genuinely surprised. Aedan took a small satisfaction at that.

"No. I care no more for the grey wardens. I have served the order, and given everything that has been asked of me. No more, I am done. You will just have to struggle along without me."

Marcel shook his head, and Aedan saw the slight whitening of his fingertips, as they pressed into the wood.

"Aedan, you cannot hide it from me. I can see it. Even if I had not seen Highever, and heard of the cruelty you impressed upon the people, supposedly in the name of duty, I know what I see now. What I sense. The taint grows within you, and no man can hold against it. You must know yourself, your anger, your indifference... They are not you. I beg forgiveness that you were left so long without help, that this was allowed to occur, but you have no choice. You must come to Weisshaupt."

'No choice'... It was the wrong phrase to use, Marcel saw that as soon as the words left his lips. Aedan's face tightened, and a hand dropped to wrap round his sword. He was not weilding it, not yet anyway. Marcel tried again.

"Please, listen to me. At Weisshaupt you would be regarded like the hero you are. No accusations, but understanding. No need to hide away in some forgotten town away from your homeland. We could offer you protection against any who would raise issue with your past. You would be granted a position on the council, not a token title, but a seat befitting your great deeds."

"Why now do the grey wardens suddenly appreciate my efforts?"

Marcel closed his eyes briefly, weighting up his options. He had been told Aedan reacted badly to lies, and so had been making a conscious effort to only tell the truth. Now though, came a truth he though Aedan would like even less than his information about the taint.

"Your actions at Highever did indeed destroy the darkspawn," he began, slowly, watching Aedan carefully for signs that the nobleman might get aggressive, "but it has also blemished the grey warden's reputation. Stories are spreading, almost all fabricated to some extent, but very few are complementary to the order. If Weisshaupt can show that the great Aedan Cousland is part of the council, and celebrated for his deeds, we can start to mend the damage. We can discount the more unpleasant details of your endeavours as unfortunate sacrifices, whilst letting people see you act like a grey warden commander should. They cannot demonise you, if you show yourself offering military aid to farmers, and sending supplies back to Highever to restore the land after the darkspawn."

The door opened, and Marcel watched Aedan's face relax as someone entered. He turned slowly, to see an elf, Antivan from his appearance, waltz in and tip his head curiously at him.

"A guest? Someone you know Aedan?"

Zevran knew the man was a grey warden, he'd learnt to see the signs of the order. It was not a bravery, or proudness, nor a hidden power. It was the way they walked, like men under a death sentence. They could hold heads high, and command an entire battlefield with their presence, but they were haunted by the taint within. Something they could not escape, something they could not fight against. It was the same with the crow masters, they also were living against the clock.

He had not meant to overhear Aedan and Alistair talking about their shortened lifespans, but he had woken when he'd heard someone awake with a cry. It had been Aedan, and he had listened through the thin canvas of the tent as Alistair had spoke of the grey wardens, their nightmares and their early death. At the time, he had found it interesting, and had even taken notes in case they could be sold as information later. Those pieces of parchment had been thrown into a fire later, in an attempt to make it untrue, once he realised that he wanted Aedan to live.

"He was just leaving." Aedan's tone suggested that whatever they had spoken about, had not been good news.

Marcel started visibly, and Aedan got up, scrapping the chair painfully against the floor, too loud for Marcel to protest over. He opened the door, and gave a very quick bow, hardly even dipping his shoulders. Marcel rose, walked past Zevran without making eye contact, and stood in front of Aedan, making no move to exit.

"You know I am right, whether you wish to believe or not. We can help you, and restore your name. Your brother is in exile, did you know that? We are not sure where he fled to, but last I heard, people were praising the Howe family for attempting to overthrow the Couslands."

Zevran scanned from Aedan to Marcel, and cursed the sailors for delaying him. He wanted to know what help this man was offering, and why.

Marcel watched Aedan seemed to still at the mention of Howe, and offered a silent prayer to the maker that he had not overstepped.

"Howe was a murderer." Aedan said quietly. Marcel nodded gravely.

"I know, I know the truth. But people hear stories, and make up their own truths. They hear that a man named Cousland destroyed Amaranthine, and killed the people within. Then they hear that Howe tried to kill the Cousland family, and they decide that Howe was trying to prevent the 'evil Cousland family' from doing harm. You see how damning these stories can be if left unchecked?"

Zevran watched Aedan's face darken, and stepped quickly in, placing a hand on his shoulder. He could felt the tension in the muscles, and gave a little squeeze.

"This sounds like something best perhaps discussed at length. And not in a doorway?"

Aedan, to Marcel's complete surprise, seemed to grudgingly release the door handle. Zevran pulled the table out from the wall, and set the chairs into a less confrontational formation. Marcel was invited to sit, and asked if he wished either some still lemonade or wine.

Zevran sat himself at Aedan's side, after placing a jug of lemon-honey-water and glasses upon the table, out of the line of sight.

"I am Zevran, since my friend seems to have forgone the introductions."

"Marcel." the Orlisan nearly put out his hand for the elf to kiss, but he had caught from Aedan manner that this was no servant. In fact, it seemed that perhaps the best way to appeal to Aedan may be through the elf.

"So, what brings you to Antiva?"

"Grey warden business."

"Ah.. and I suppose I am not to be included in that case?"

Marcel seemed to debate this. Some of the rules about the secrets could be flexible in circumstances like these, but there was a limit to what he was comfortable sharing with an elf.

"Stay." Aedan's hand had lightly fallen onto Zevran's shoulder, as the elf had started to rise to take his leave. The respect Aedan seemed to have for Zevran confused Marcel, as well as made him feel slightly sick. He pushed aside his prejudices, and raised his head.

"Aedan. You need to come back to Weisshaupt. Hiding away here will only compound the gossip and rumours. And there is the matter of the training."

"I will not go. I believe we have already spoke of this."

Marcel sighed, "You can come with me voluntarily, or I can give you a written summons."

"I take no orders. Not from you, and certainly not from little bits of paper with official seals."

Zevran saw Aedan's chest start to rise and fall rapidly, and realised that Marcel was going to get hurt if he didn't intervene.

"Perhaps..." Both men glared at the elf, "It might be best if Aedan took a walk to cool down. It is hot, and I fear that the heat is wearing on everyone's patiences."

Aedan got up, and gave Zevran a pointed look. "I want him gone by the time I get back."

Zevran gave a little nod, and as Aedan stalked out the door, turned to Marcel. He gracefully poured two glasses of lemonade, and sat, crossing his legs.

"You, are either very brave, very foolish or both. Pulling rank, did you honestly think that would work?" Zevran drank, tipping the glass first to Marcel.

"Watch your tongue elf. You address a grey warden!"

"I have dogged the footsteps of grey wardens all across Ferelden. I have endured their cooking, and been kept awake by their snoring. I am unimpressed, Mr Marcel. You do not know Aedan as I do, and in trying to force him, you have only made him more stubborn. Now. Tell me **_why_** you wish to drag that rather surly man to Weisshaupt? It cannot be for want of the company."

Marcel regarded the elf with open disdain, but realised this was 'the lanky swanky elf' that Oghren had reported took part in fighting the blight. The dwarf, in between swigs of something that smelled entirely unhealthy, had offered a rather disjointed account of events, but did speak of an Antivan assassin. He elected not to drink the glass poured for him.

"First and foremost, he is a grey warden, and belongs at Weisshaupt. Second, he has acted in such a way as to damage the order, and this needs to be addressed. Lastly, if you have known Aedan since the blight, you will have seen that he is not the man he used to be."

Zevran stopped drinking, and put the glass carefully down.

"Aedan has.. changed, it is true."

"Aedan is changing."

Zevran said nothing, but his face grew tight.

"What you have noticed... it is the taint. Grey wardens are tainted. Normally, after joining a grey warden recruit is given a series of meditations, and extensive training to combat it, to control the taint. We took some of the templar discipline drills, as well as some of the principles magi use, as well as our own practices developed over the years."

"Alistair never spoke of this..."

"Alistair did not receive it, he was too new a recruit. The practices are useless until you can start to feel the taint grow, feel its first darkness steal into your thoughts and mind. You cannot defend against it, until you know what you are up against. They start about half a year into grey warden recruitment, after the joining initiation."

Zevran licked his lips, his mouth suddenly dry. "What happens when the teachings are not given?"

"The taint grows, unchecked. The person is filled with rage, and loses sight of their humanity. The same mindless destruction that fuels the darkspawn starts to show through. Did he tell you of Highever, of Amaranthine?"

"He said he burnt the city, to kill darkspawn."

"Before that, he was given command of Highever, but he ignored the plight of the people. Farms were raided, razed, and Aedan would use the fleeing civilians to lure out the darkspawn, only then mobilising his troops to attack them. He left the refugees outside the gates of Amaranthine, to serve as a warning system for when the darkspawn attacked. He stole and looted the dead to raise the money to develope flaming bomb weapons, which he would throw into the fray, regardless of who was consumed by the fire, be they innocent or not. He did indeed fight the darkspawn, but at terrible cost to those living there. He fought like a man possessed by a rage demon, destroying everything in his path. When he gave the order to burn the city, they say he stood indifferent, even as the screams caused the other soldiers to cover their ears and weep."

Zevran shifted uncomfortably. Marcel unclenched his fists, which had balled as he remembered the crying people of the ruined land. They had flinched from him when he said he was a grey warden, as if he might corrupt them with his touch.

"It will get worse." he said to Zevran, quietly.

Zevran swallowed, "Can he be saved? If he goes to the grey wardens, can they save him?"

"Perhaps."

He was aware of Zevran's golden eyes on him, searching his face for signs of dishonesty. The elf had brought himself forward in the chair, and was frowning.

"I am not lying. And I think you know that, even if you do not want to accept. Aedan will listen to you, and so you are the only one that can convince him to go to Weisshaupt. They can assess the extent of the taint's progression, and they will be able to teach Aedan how to protect himself... if he is willing." Marcel brought his hands together to rest in front of him.

"I will see what I can do..." Zevran's voice did not sound hopeful, and he stood up. "It would be best if you were to leave now. I do not think it would go well for you to remain."

"I have a room in the city..."

"No. Go home. Go back to the fortress. Either Aedan walks in the gate willingly, or not. You will not be able to take him against him without a diplomatic incident, and a bloodbath."

Marcel was about make a point about being ordered about by a lowly elf, but he caught the look in Zevran's eyes. They were hard and unshifting, a mirror of Aedan's. He brought himself up to standing, and had to admit a grudging respect for the Antivan. He'd seen Aedan, and the obstinate manner of the man had been like fighting against a fortress wall, yet the elf seemed to have sway with the nobleman. There was affection there too, clear in the elf's golden eyes, and from the stories Marcel could guess how deep it ran. Unseemly for a grey warden to engage in such things, but unsurprising. Aedan was fast proving to be a whole mess of complications, and broken rules. Marcel was rather glad that Zevran appeared to be taking the responsibility of dealing with Aedan, but he wondered if the elf knew the danger he had placed himself in. He gave a grave nod.

"Good bye, and good luck." After a moments pause, Marcel did lower his head into a bow, and Zevran bowed back, appreciating the gesture from a man with obvious contempt for his blood.

He closed the door, and allowed his shoulders to slump.

It would be easy to pretend that Marcel had been lying. The man had barged in, and handled the situation poorly, confronting Aedan, and demanding from him. It would be almost too easy to dismiss him as an arrogant idiot, hoping to draw on Aedan's great deeds to further his own position, using a series of untruths to pull Aedan into going back with him.

He knew though, much as it caused his chest to feel like it was being crushed, that Marcel was right. Aedan was different. Changed. _**Changing. **_The thought made him shiver, even in the hot Antivan air. **  
**


	9. Chapter 9

The warm smell of bread greeted Aedan as he came back in, carrying a bottle of wine, already open and partway empty. Zevran was slicing the bread, and gave a little nod as Aedan sat heavily into a chair. He removed his sword belt, and let the heavy leather and weapon clatter to the floor. Then he picked up the bottle again, and looked round the room.

"He is gone. Hopefully back to Weisshaupt. I took the liberty of not poisoning him, though he did insist of making it difficult. A rather haughty gentleman, with no head for diplomacy." Zevran fought to keep his voice light, though he would have rather liked to switch the waterskins, as he had planned when he had not known the man's identity. It would have perhaps taught Marcel to mind his manners when speaking with elves... or Antivan assassins.

"Sodding grey wardens. You'd think they could just leave me be by this point..."

Zevran placed a plate down, and then two glasses, hoping to at least stop Aedan from drinking the whole bottle to himself. Aedan curled defensively around the green glass, and took a large slab of bread. He chewed it with his mouth open, and Zevran wondered if that was the first bottle Aedan had purchased that evening.

"Ah well, it seems at least there is not something hideous and horrible threatening the world this time. Of that we can be thankful."

Aedan coughed on the bread, then grinned.

"Wouldn't be surprised if they wanted me to go clear the spiders from their cellars..."

"Well, maybe if it was a nest of the little black and red ones?"

Aedan gave Zevran a sideways glance, smirked, and took another bite of bread. Alistair had confided to Zevran, during one of their frequent campside chats, that spiders gave him the creeps. If he found one in his tent, he had to squash it on sight, or else spend the night worrying that he'd inhale it while sleeping. When Morrigan one day twisted and turned into a spider, in the middle of a battle, it had taken the extemplar a great deal of restraint not to take the witch's own staff and club her over the head with it. Zevran, of course, had found this highly amusing. Since then, it had become a joke, shared amongst the camp, that after dragons and darkspawn, werewolves and whatever else, it would surely be a little spider that finished them all off. Zevran had taken great glee in recalling a type of spider, coloured red and black, that was more poisonous that any of the concoctions he carried. Alistair had complained of nightmares for weeks after that.

Aedan took a long drink of wine, and Zevran held his hand out. He was a bit concerned that Aedan had not let him check the bottle first, for poison of a more mundane variety, but Aedan seemed intent on not sharing. He swayed, having to steady himself against the table.

"Aedan... Marcel might have been a particularly unpleasant uninvited guest, but he seems to have got under your skin... Want to talk about it?"

"Nothing to discuss. He was a stinking liar, and an Orlisian to boot." Aedan swept his hair from his eyes, and peered at Zevran. "Why, what'd he say to you?"

"He mentioned Highever..."

"Told you about that already."

"And he spoke of the taint..."

"Lies. Like I said, stinkin' liar."

Zevran cocked his head to the side, and finally managed to swipe the bottle from Aedan. He sniffed it, then poured himself a glass. He touched the liquid to his lips, and tasted it for any sensation of burning or numbness. Satisfied that if Aedan was still standing, it probably wasn't too lethal, he placed the bottle on the table.

"Aedan, I can see you are handling this with less than your usual composure. Something in what he said must have at least held some truth, or it would not be bothering you so."

"Let it alone Zevran..." Aedan waved a hand dismissively, reaching again for the bottle. A hand darted out, to rest lightly upon his wrist, and Aedan grudgingly brought his arm back, leaving the wine where Zevran had placed it. Zevran folded his arms, fighting to keep the disappointment he had in Aedan from showing in his face or voice. That Aedan had allowed himself to get drunk in response to Marcel's visitation, spoke of denial and fear, and implied that the grey warden had brought up things Aedan would have rather not think about. That he would rather turn to drink, than to Zevran, stung the assassin. He had thought they had reached a point where they could share their problems, that neither would have to fight alone. Infuriatingly, he knew he would not be able to peruse this until morning, when Aedan had had a chance to sleep off the effects of the wine.

"Shall I leave you alone too then, to continue to get inebriated in the face of adversity?"

Aedan suddenly lunged upwards, and wrapped Zevran's upper arm in a tight grip. Zevran had not expected Aedan to be able to be so coordinated, and though he could probably twist out of the chair, with Aedan baring down so heavily upon him he did not think he could do so without striking Aedan's elbow or hand to get him to release. Instead, he regarded Aedan coldly.

"You are not allowed to leave me!" Aedan was almost shouting, but his voice held a panicked tone. Zevran softened, realising that through an alcoholic haze, Aedan was struggling to cope, and that his grey warden needed him.

"I will not leave then." the assassin softly whispered, gently prying Aedan's hand from his arm. Aedan seemed to slump then, his hand heavy in Zevran's.

"I shall fetch you some water, you will thank me for it in the morning..." he said, and pulled away, leaving Aedan sitting by the table. He picked out a sizeable clay jug, deciding that Aedan would require more than a glass of water to offset the alcohol in his system, and went to the waterpump to fill it. He let the task occupy him, fighting down the uneasy sense of dread he felt in seeing Aedan like this. Aedan, who had fought down dragons and ogres and archdemons, afraid of the words the Orlisan grey warden had brought with him.

When he got back, and offered the jug to Aedan, the nobleman took it to his lips and drank. He wiped moisture from his mouth with the back of a hand, and looked at Zevran.

"...think it would be best for me to retire for the night. See you in the morning?"

"Yes Aedan." Zevran said, sensing the need for reassurance. He motioned that Aedan should take the jug, and the grey warden did so, spilling only a little as he staggered towards his room. Zevran likewise decided that the day had been unexpectedly wearing, and took himself off to his own room. He lay upon his bed, watching the sky gradually darken, his mood following suit as he considered what Marcel had said, and what it meant for himself and Aedan Cousland.

* * *

Zevran awoke, and found Luinet washing clothes outside. On seeing the assassin, she dropped the laundry, and hurried over. Zevran could tell that Luinet wanted to know the details of the visitor from the pervious day, and thought it best to sate her curiosity before she got a chance to question Aedan. He told a tale about Aedan having been involved in the blight battles, but not mentioning grey wardens at all. He told of an order to return to command, when Aedan had seen enough of war and bloody battlefields. He very clearly explained that the guest was not entirely welcomed, and that Luinet would be wise not to bring it up, as Aedan had seen the visitor off on rather unfriendly terms.

_"So.. did you also fought in the blight battles? You said you'd meet Aedan from a time ago..."_

_"Yes, I took part in the battle against the blight."_

Luinet's eyes widened, and then narrowed to a scowl.

_"You are toying with me again, Mister Crow."_ she said, using the title of Mister Crow which she only seemed to use when reprimanding the assassin.

_"I assure you I am not. I could tell you of the monsters I bested, and show you the scars you could only get from an army of darkspawn."_ With a defiant air he started to pull the trousers from his hip, twisting to show Luinet the thin white lines of scar tissue clawed across his lower back. Luinet made a high pitched yelp as she clapped her hands over her eyes, a stream of shocked curses hurriedly rushing from her tongue.

"Zevran...?" Zevran and Luinet both spun to see Aedan in his doorway, observing the scene of what looked like Zevran undressing in front of an angry Antivan housemaid. Zevran let out a laugh, jerking his trousers up again.

"Just showing off my battlescars..."

Aedan raised a brow, and shook his head.

"I think it is too early for your shameless shenanigans." He wasn't smiling, his eyes dark and bloodshot. Zevran let his own smile drop, and gave Luinet an apologetic bow.

_"Sorry Luinet, that was crude of me. I offer an apology."_

_"Should think so..."_ Luinet, also seeing that Aedan did not seem in the mood for an argument, backed off into the kitchen. She produced a bowl of chopped fruit for each of them, but elected to have hers out of sight, shuffling away from where Aedan had sat down.

The elf and grey warden ate in silence. When finished, Zevran collected the plates and left them by the sink for Luinet, then came and sat by Aedan, waiting for him to speak first.

"Hmm. I suppose you want to discuss the Orlisan?"

"Marcel does not concern me overly. What he said, that I would like to discuss."

Aedan drew a slow breath, eyes downcast.

"Nothing to talk about, I refuse to entertain his ridiculous lies."

"I do not think he was lying." Zevran leaned in, across the table, willing Aedan to raise his head so he could talk to him face to face. "He has nothing to gain from deceit, and must surely know that any falsehoods he told you would be discovered."

"You believe an Orlisan over me?"

"I believe you do not want to admit it, and much as it is a distasteful notion, Marcel might have had a point. You could do worse than to benefit from the years of experience the grey wardens have. Painfully little is known, they are much too secretive of their order, and Alistair was hardly the best source of information..."

Aedan looked up then, snapping his eyes upwards to lock upon Zevran's.

"I have no need to learn anything from the grey wardens. I am done with them."

Zevran did not turn away, his eyes meeting Aedan's ignoring the anger building behind them. He would not back down, not on this. Not when Aedan's very survival was at stake.

"Aedan, I do not know if it is the taint, or just that you have suffered through a blight, but you have changed. There is something different about you, and I think you know it."

Aedan slammed two hands upon the table, and rose from his chair, leaning in close to Zevran's face. Though he wanted to look away, or push past the Cousland to get himself to a safer distance, Zevran gathered his courage and stared back at Aedan, not relenting under his snarl. Aedan stood for a moment, quivering with rage, before sinking back down into a chair, fists curled into tight balls, and teeth still bared.

"I know..." his voice was lowered, though his temper ran high, "Damn you Zev, I know. I though that once Marcel left things would settle, that I could go back to hiding from the grey wardens and their cursed taint. I have felt **it** growing in me, but I did not believe... did not want to believe..." Aedan's breathing was ragged, and he felt his cheeks flush with anger. He hated Marcel for bringing such dire news to him, and he hated the grey wardens for enlisting him into their doomed order. He also hated Zevran, in a flash of unbridled rage, for forcing him to acknowledge what he had been denying.

"Marcel said that the taint is growing stronger. That it is responsible for my actions at Highever. I know I have done things... terrible things... and I don't expect you to understand what it is like. To know that you are capable of such evil... "

A low sigh escaped Zevran's lips, and he tipped his head closer to Aedan. "You speak to a crow assassin. Maybe you are not as alone in this as you think."

Aedan turned, slowly, and regarded Zevran. he knew the past drenched in blood the assassin held, and knew about his regrets and remorse. his fingers started to relax, and gain colour again. "Perhaps... perhaps you are right."

Zevran nodded, his own shoulders releasing the pent up tension he had held while Aedan was in such a frenzy.

"I will stand by you. All I ask is that you consider Weisshaupt as an option."

"Very well." Aedan did not seem delighted, but it was a vast improvement upon yesterday's stance as far as Zevran was concerned.

* * *

They had spoken further, quietly, but Zevran, his objective complete, found his concentration wavering. His eyes felt hot and his usual poise seemed lacking as he sat at the table. What sleep he had claimed the night before had been fitful, and speaking with Luinet had taken up his morning. It was after he tried to mask a third yawn when Aedan asked if he would not rather go and nap, as was his habit. Zevran was reluctant to leave Aedan alone, the grey warden appeared to be teetering on the edge of anger and acceptance. Aedan however, insisted.

Zevran decided he was no good to anyone if exhausted, and relented, taking himself to his room and collapsing upon the bed.

He later awoke to footsteps outside his door, and instantly his senses picked out Aedan's sure pace, far too commanding to ever succeed at stealth. His body felt stiff still, and he lay motionless as the door opened. He was slightly surprised to feel the bed under him shift as the grey warden crawled in behind him, a firm arm draped over his shoulders. The soft sound of Aedan inhaling gently against the back of his head, his nose buried into his hair. He could feel the nobleman relax, a small contented sigh as Aedan pulled him into an embrace, the elf's back against his stomach.

A familiar flutter fired through his body, as Aedan started to nuzzle his nose over the outside of his pointed ear, and down the soft tanned skin of his neck.

"I've realised... I need you Zev. Far more than I will ever need the grey wardens. I want you to know that."

Zevran, to his credit, did not flinch from the words, though he was suddenly struck with an uncertainty as to how to respond. He turned, to face Aedan, and gave a half smile, before bring his face forwards in a deep and slow kiss. He slid his tongue over Aedan's lips, pleased at the way he could make them part as he rocked his body against the grey warden's. While words of affection were strange to him, he could express himself in joining with his grey warden. It was a language he was well versed in.

Aedan clutched Zevran to him, swallowing thickly as he started to kiss and bite down the neck, able to feel the blood start to pulse under his teeth. He was panting, and though Zevran could feel the tingle of his own need rise within him, he stroked against Aedan's face, trying to slow the grey warden, to make the pleasure last. Aedan's eyes flashed raw and primal, and Zevran found his wrist enclosed, and pressed into the bed, Aedan over him and holding him down. There was a moment, where both breaths seemed to catch in the air, now heated with intensity. Zevran gave an experimental tug, feeling the weight painful, and found himself firmly held. Golden eyes looked up at Aedan, as the warden stared down at the elf, contemplating whether or not to let him go. When Zevran felt the fingers release, and draw back, the assassin found he was able to fill his lungs again. Breaths, shaky with relief, calmed him, as Aedan licked his lips, uncertain of how to proceed. Both men had realised that Aedan had **enjoyed** holding Zevran down, and that it had taken a conscious effort for him to loosen his grasp. That the decision to let go had not been instant.

Zevran was not so naive he did not recognise the dominant leanings in his grey warden, but the fire in Aedan's eyes scared him. They burned fierce and strong, as if they might consume all in their sights. It went beyond the passion of the moment, hinted at possessiveness that Zevran remembered all too well from the day Aedan had found him. Aedan had submitted once to his base desires, at Zevran's expense, and that cold creeping fear that it could happen again chilled Zevran to his core. He toyed with the idea of yielding, of letting Aedan hold him and do what he would. He could not deny that the idea had some appeal, as long as he could trust in Aedan not to take it too far, not to **hurt **him.

That was the problem. Zevran knew that stoking that fire could cause it to rage out of control, that it would only incite Aedan to greater depths of depravity. No, he could not allow himself to surrender again. At the same time, he was unwilling to leave himself and Aedan in the state they were in, both almost wincing with need.

He reached out to lift Aedan's face, and saw it twisted in shame and anger. He shuffled forwards, and applied pressure upon both of Aedan's shoulders. Aedan let himself be laid upon the bed, though his body was ridgid, Zevran's fingers tracing lines across his collarbone and neck. Slowly, Zevran's caresses pulled him from his thoughts back into the moment. The elf straddled him, flexing and twisting as he bent and arched as he breathed heavily against his chest, nibbling, sucking and kissing. Aedan curled a hand around the hip in front of him, guiding it closer. As Zevran stretched over Aedan's prone figure, plucking the jar of oil out from its place on the bedside table, Aedan caught the tension thrumming through the elf. Flexing as he drew back up, his own arousal trembling as it brushed against the tight stomach beneath him, Zevran started to slather Aedan's with oil. The sensation was cool, but warming rapidly under Zevran's gliding fingers and the light push of a palm pressing against him. Replacing the oil on the bedside, Zevran lifted himself, and started to rock his hips back and forth, his buttocks clenching against the tip of Aedan's member.

Aedan clicked his teeth together as Zevran started to seat himself upon his erection, the tightness pressing down upon him exquisite. Zevran's hands clawed at his chest as he sat fully down, lost in the sensation of Aedan filling and stretching him, the sheer heat stealing his breath. He could felt Aedan's blood pulse inside him, feel the hips under him twitch as Aedan fought the urge to thrust upwards. This, he decided, would show Aedan that a willing partner offered far more than someone forced.

He tilted himself forward, and began to pull himself up and down the full length of Aedan, gasping as Aedan's hands on his hips started to drive him down harder and faster. He twisted his hips from side to side, invoking a soft cry from his lover, then balanced himself upon one knee, the other leg supporting his weight. Aedan met the gap between them with vigour, his hips pounding upwards, feeling Zevran tighten as he stuffed the elf to capacity.

Arching into the sensation, Zevran became aware of a tightness encompassing his arousal, and looked through eyes struggling to focus to see Aedan pump him in time, his expression intense and full of devotion. That undid him, and he released, his seed splattering over Aedan's chest. Aedan heaved upwards, and then again. Zevran felt he might break under the assault of the hard length driving into him, but when Aedan finally ejaculated deep within him, he arched, head rolling back and a gasping cry. The assassin slumped forwards, Aedan slipping free with a wet sound, and lay on the bed, spent.

Zevran's shoulders were clammy with sweat, but Aedan laid his hands upon him, and held Zevran tight against his chest, panting and uttering incoherent noises. That, or Zevran was too dazed to be able to comprehend.

As his breathing slowed to a comfortable pace, and he managed to force his eyes open, he saw Aedan staring at him intently, frowning.  
"What? Do I have something in my teeth?" he said softly, smirking as he pulled himself alongside the grey warden. The Cousland noble placed a hand against his cheek, and stroked against the smooth skin.

"Marcel was wrong. He said the taint was certain to overwhelm me, and just now I felt it... but I managed to resist. You gave me strength to resist. I think that as long as I have you, I can keep control. You are the only thing holding me together Zevran."

Zevran squirmed, uncomfortable in the face of such words, Aedan's body suddenly too close. The fingers against his face hooked under his jaw, not grasping but enough to keep him from shifting position.

"I meant it Zev, I really think you are the key. I don't need fancy grey warden mystic meditations, nor other such drivel, I just need you. That's why you can't leave, I don't know how I would cope... or what I would do..." There was an unspoken threat there, and Zevran's ears picked up on it, despite Aedan's oddly plaintive tones.

He hushed Aedan, fearful of what he might say next, needing time to absorb the words. He rested his head on Aedan's chest, and tried not to mind that the grey warden held him just a little too tightly...


	10. Chapter 10

**my continued thanks for everyone who reads this story. as usual, italics means Antivan. Aedan has a rough handle on the language, but most of the conversation is too fast and complicated for him to fully understand.**

Aedan was not gentle as he gave Zevran's shoulder a brisk shake.

"Wake." he commanded quietly. Zevran opened his eyes to see Aedan, fully dressed and holding a sword. That he suddenly felt very much unarmed served to strip the vestiges of sleep from him, and he jerked upright.

"There are people at the door. I will go and greet them but I need you up and dressed and ready. If they are grey wardens, and they have some daft notion of dragging me off to Weisshaupt, I'll need your blades. Stay by the door, and listen out for trouble." Aedan's air mimicked his sword, cold and unmoving, and Zevran gave an understanding nod.

He was swift and silent as he pulled a tunic over his head, and curled into a crouch behind the door, ear against the gap above the hinge, listening intently as he heard Aedan open the door and several people enter. He counted four, but most of these footfalls were padded, and light. as he heard an Antivan voice ring out in the hall, confident and rich, he knew that there were Crows in the house. His hands tightened on his daggers, and he thanked Aedan's foresight for keeping him out of sight.

"_Greetings, Ser Cousland. And welcome to the land of Antiva." _

Another voice, accented, translated the sentence into Ferelden. A male voice, nervous, trying not to stumble on the words.

"Jik. What is the meaning of this?" Aedan's voice was firm, and he spoke in Ferelden. Zevran thought this wise, for Aedan would have little chance of following the florid Antivan of a crow. Better to let them believe he had no Antivan, and keep his knowledge to serve him in secret. However, he had no idea who Jik was, and how Aedan knew him.

"_You may explain to him. Tell him who we are." _The crow leader seemed to address the translator,

"Forgive me lord. This is Alonzea of the crows. They are a group of assassins, and they wish to speak to you. Its about the elf you were seeking... I had no choice but to tell them what I knew.. They had my daughter... They assure me that they do not wish a fight however, just to talk. I will translate, if it pleases you. Alonzea does not speak Ferelden, so I will have to relay your words back to him also."

Zevran had not ever met Alonzea, and in truth did not know much of the man. He had been a lower ranking crow, not even a master... but it seemed his cull of the highers had elevated Alonzea into a position of power. No muttered curse escaped him, there were too many ears present, but he did edge closer to the door so that he could hear better.

"Then talk."

_"I hope you will overlook that I have hired your translator into my service, but I felt a familiar face might ease the conversation. I would assume that your are finding yourself in good health? I am told the Antivan sun can be rather much compared with the cooler climes of the lands overseas." _This was then translated back to Ferelden, via Jik.

"Look. I will not tolerate your petty small talk. You are here for a reason, dispense with the pleasantries."

Jik translated loyally, his tone almost apologetic for Aedan's brisk manner.

_"Ah Fereldens, always to the point." _Alonzea seemed to recover from the lack of the social civility which would normally be demanded, if not expected. "_Very well I am led to believe you have something of ours... We wish it returned to us." _

Zevran steadied himself with a breath, despite all his plans and preventions, he had brought the crows down upon Aedan.

"You mean Zevran?"

Jik translated.

"_Ahh, you do know him then. I was unsure..." _

Jik's voice held a quaver, as he relayed the words to Aedan.

"You were not at all unsure. You knew my association with Zevran, else you would not be here. Do not play your silly Antivan word games with me, nor insult my intelligence. I thought better of the great Antivan crows than resorting to trickery."

Jubilant, Zevran gave thanks for Aedan's sense. Alonzea was using a common tactic in negotiations, putting the other party on the defensive by suggesting they had erred and given away some piece of information. It tended to make them nervous, and more likely to make mistakes and, ironically, reveal further details.  
Interestingly, Zevran also noted that the translator relayed Aedan's reply word for word, despite the insult. He realised then that it was Aedan that this Jik feared, not the murder of crows standing nearby.

"I_... I understand_." Alonzea seemed to have lost his confidence, struggling to adapt to this blunt Ferelden, his usual graces and guiles useless against Aedan's disconcertingly frank nature. He would not be used to someone addressing him as Aedan did, abrupt and with a degree of impatience. "_We wish the elf. We will pay you handsomely, as well as guaranteeing that your stay in Antiva will not be interfered with again." _

"No."

_"I do not think you understand. We are not asking. If you hand over the elf now, we will give you 500 gold, and promise that you will be safe from the crows. I cannot guarantee your safety should you detain us from what is ours. I have heard the stories, and know you are a formidable warrior, but you are a very long way from home and your allies. None here would blink twice if you were to disappear." _

Jik translated, but this time added, in his own voice a quiet plea to Aedan "My lord, I urge you to be careful. The crows are powerful, and very dangerous."

"No." Aedan repeated.

_"Really? You value a failed assassin over a king's ransome and your own life? Very well, I offer one last reward for your cooperation. You obviously have some sort of attachment, so, if you turn Zevran in, by the end of this day, we will grant__** it **__a quick death." _

Zevran shuddered in his skin, partly at being referred to as an 'it', but more that a merciful death was being used as a bargaining chip. I did not bode well for him, should the crows catch him on their terms.

As Jik translated, Zevran could hear the people beyond the door readying themselves. Aedan must have looked like he was about to raise his sword. Instead, the assassin heard Aedan's voice ring out loudly.

"Remember what I said about leaving. Run!"

Zevran tightened his body, trying to fathom wether he was to flee or fight. Then the Aedan's warning about leaving returned to him, and he stayed still. Jik, seemed slow to tell Alonzea what Aedan had said, but then suddenly there was movement. Zevran's ears pricked for the sound of steel, but none came, so he stayed hidden. There were cries as a door, Aedan's private rooms he thought, was forced, and a female voice spoke out.

_"Master Alonzea, the window was wide open. He must have escaped out onto the rooftops." _

Alonzea gave an exasperated cry, and issued the female and two others to follow out the window. Zevran could hear the crow leader seethe as he spoke to Aedan, and had to strain to made out his lowered voice.

"_You have made a grave mistake_." then, a chuckle as the voice retreated, probably heading out the door now he thought the quarry no longer in the building. "_You should have Zevran tell you of what happens to those who betray the crows... I imagine you will find it... informative. The offer stands, should you not like what you hear. Give us Zevran by tonight, and you will not have to experience our methods personally. Deliver him to the docks, we will be waiting._" Nothing in his tone suggested that he imagined Aedan doing anything other than obeying, and Zevran wondered if Aedan's face was saying something that his lips were not.

As Jik frantically tried to relay to Aedan, apparently shaking, Zevran tesned and released his muscles, ready to fight if need be.

"_Wait! My daughter... my Abigail!" _Jik's voice was almost a cry of pain.

"_Aahh yes, I had almost forgotten. She will be returned, along with your payment. I do not think we will have futher need of your services but if we do... we know where to find you..." _The voice was cruel, and though he could not see, Zevran felt sure that Alonzea was smirking wickedly.

The silence that decended did not reassure Zevran, and he stayed as still as he could, daggers tilted to drive up into his foes. He listened as Jik started to explain to Aedan what Alonzea had said, full of apology. Aedan said simply; "Get out.", followed by a set of scurrying footsteps and the sound of wood closing against a doorframe. Footsteps approached his door, and the opened slowly to reveal Aedan, looking irritated of all things.

"I thought you'd managed to deter the crows..."

"So did I..." Zevran got up, gingerly as his legs protested the movement, having been crouched and tense for so long. He returned his daggers to his belt, and brushed off his knees from the dust from the floor.

"Sod it. If it is not one thing it is another. Right, what should we do?" Aedan seemed to be treating the fact that he had managed to engage the wrath of the most prolific assassin group in all of Thedas as if he had spilled a glass of wine, or ripped a shirt. Zevran felt himself questioning that Aedan knew what he had got himself entangled in.

"They will not move until tomorrow. But I imagine they will not be at all pleased with you. Aedan, I think we will have to contemplate this carefully, the crows are not a threat to be taken lightly."

"Archdemons, grey wardens or crows, I will face them and beat them down."

"Mmuch as Ii admire your bravery, Ii would advise against over confidence." Hhe was painfully aware his that his words seemed hushed, and the assassin found himself nervously scanning the doors and windows.

"Zevran... you are scared."

Zevran turned and glared at Aedan. "Yes. And rightly so. Alonzea was not lying when he said that a quick death would be a blessing... The crows, they can be very cruel..." He folded his arms across his chest, and remembered the first time he had been made to witness a torture session of a crow who had failed. He had been woken in the dead of night, and taken into a cellar, with two other new apprentices. They had huddled together, the cold air and scene before them chilling their blood.

Bound to a chair, hands and feet crushed and bleeding, only half aware of what was going on, was a former crow. His hair was matted, and the stink of the room almost overwhelming. Zevran had fought to keep from retching as he realised that the man's flesh was rotting in some places, and charred in others. The torturer, paying no heed to their audience, then proceeded to squeeze the broken right hand, until bone showed through the ruined skin.

One apprentice had cried out then, crying for the man to be shown mercy. He had been taken away and was not seen, or spoken of, again. Even then, young as he was, Zevran had seen that there was a lesson here. It not only displayed some of the finer points of inflicting pain, but also tested the mettle of the young crows, compassion having no place within a crow's heart. In addition, it was made very clear what happened to crows who failed their masters.

The elf took a deep breath, the way the man's head had lolled towards him, eyes pleading for death, lingering in his mind.

"Aedan. The crows are fragmented, and I suspect that the organisation is in its death throes, but that makes them only more dangerous and desperate. If they managed to find me, they would not hesitate to make you watch as I was subjected to their torture, as punishment for denying them. Even if they left you alone, they would deliver you pieces of me, over a period, weeks probably. They are cunning as they are cruel. They would manipulate you into a rage, into attacking them openly in public, and thus kill you in defence, avoiding political repercussions." Zevran's voice dropped to a sincere sad whisper. " I would save you that pain..."

With a wave of his hand, Aedan dismissed the idea of Zevran turning himself over.

"Zevran, you are not going to hand yourself over to those bastards. I will cut down any crows who comes within my sword's length. I will do whatever it takes to keep you with me."

Zevran looked at Aedan, and his hand still tight around his sword. He had no doubts about Aedan's strength, but was wary that his temper may be the grey warden's biggest weakness, and that the crows would take full advantage of that. Or that he himself was a weakness in Aedan's otherwise impenetrable chain.

That he might be doing more harm by staying, gnawed at him. He'd already attracted the crows to Aedan, and he suspected that as long as he remained, Aedan would not seek grey warden help to combat the taint inside him. Aedan must have caught the look in his eye, because he closed the gap between them, sword held to the side.

"Zevran. You **cannot** leave me." His eyes narrowed, "I will not allow it."

Zevran said nothing, but was struck by the tightness in his gut at Aedan's words. He would admit that he was scared of the crows, but seeing Aedan like this, hearing the venom in his voice and anger in his eyes, that positively terrified him.


	11. Chapter 11

**The end is in sight, a couple more chapters of this story. thanks to all who keep reading, and everyone who has favorited or subscripted to story alerts. and of course the reveiws, they give me the motivation to sit down and write. italics mean antivan.**

Zevran was quiet, contemplative. He could find no appetite for lunch, and though he wanted to go for a walk and clear his head, with crows circling the area, knew it would be certain suicide. He felt trapped within the walls, and within Aedan's control, the nobleman having made it clear that he would not allow any attempt at leaving.

Aedan stalked around with his sword in hand, on edge. Zevran did not try to stop his pacing, did not want to push him over the edge into another angry outburst. Did not want to see that side of Aedan surface again.

As the front door opened, Aedan swung across the hall, and leveled his sword at Luinet's face as he entered. She gave a squawk and dropped her bags, fruit and bottles falling to the floor, her hands raised up defensively. Aedan gave a grunt.

"Don't you ever knock! Stupid woman, you could've got yourself killed!"

Zevran stood, and beckoned Luinet away from the fuming grey warden.

_"We have had another rather interesting day, please forgive him. Perhaps if you would knock in future?" _

Luinet made a couple of quick gulps, as she tried to still her panicked heart, and Zevran calmly led her to a seat, patting her on the shoulder reassuringly. "_There now, I imagine you got a bit of a fright there." _

_"Bit of a fright? You two will be the death of me I swear. If its not finding bodies on the doorstep, or playing messenger, its being attacked as I walk in the door!" _

_"Messenger?" _

_"Here!" _Luinet pulled a piece of paper from her pocket and thrust it into Zevran's hands "_Though I will not be running around on your whims delivering bits of paper if that is the welcome when I get back!" _

Zevran looked at the paper, and nearly dropped it himself when he saw his name written on the envelope. He placed it on the table, and grabbed Luinet's hands, checking for discolouration of the skin, or any other signs that the paper had been treated with a toxin or poison. It was not unknown for the crows to send posioned parchments, and they seldom cared who else might get a leathal dose. Fingers curled and stiff, but Luinet seemed otherwise fine if a bit confused and startled. He gave Luinet an apologetic look.

"I was checking your hands, and thinking that perhaps you would like a poultice. They look a little pained this day..."

Luinet gave a nod, and let Zevran fetch the poultices and carefully wrap her hands. He quietly suggested that she go and sit in the sun while Aedan was quite so high strung. By this point Aedan had come over, looking at the paper suspiciously. Luinet gratefully shuffled from Aedan and his sword, her eyes just a little fearful of the nobleman.

When he was satisfied that the paper was not dangerous, Zevran picked it up and scanned over the writing.

"What is it?"

"From Marcel. For me..." Zevran said, himself surprised at the grey warden's correspondence.

Aedan went to take the paper, but Zevran was quicker. He gave Aedan a short sharp cough.

"It is addressed to myself. I should probably read it first..."

Aedan clenched his fist where his hand had paused in reaching for the letter, and returned to his pacing. Swallowing nervously, Zevran turned to the page, and the tidy script, in Ferelden.

**Zevran,  
I hope this letter finds you in a timely fashion. I am leaving for Weisshaupt on the next ship, upon your advice. I fear you are right that Aedan will either join the grey wardens at Weisshaupt willingly or not at all. It is to aid you in understanding the urgency of this matter that I reluctantly write.  
Aedan's case is not isolated. It is a closely guarded secret, but I am sure that you already know more than we would like about grey wardens. I hope I can count upon your discretion. Aedan appears to trust in you, so I shall have to too.  
Over 200 years ago, there was once a man who was enlisted into the grey wardens. As I said, we do not start the training to control the taint until it has appeared, and in this man it did not. A whole year passed, and he seemed unaffected. It was decided that this individual was of wholesome heart, and thus untouched. His immunity seemed a blessing, and the grey wardens hailed this man, Deslin Arkrith, as a character of outstanding virtue.  
In time, he became a captain, and was well loved. He had a good nature, and strong will, and it was decided that he would not get the training, as it did not seem necessary. I personally believe that he was left without the training as an experiment, to see what would happen. At the time there were questions and enquiries of the taint's nature, and some felt that the taint might give the grey wardens strength. It was debated over years whether the training was a hindrance to the order, but of course no grey warden seemed willing to give up the practices, just in case. Deslin seemed to support the claims that no harm came of not receiving the training, and he became known as a warrior without peer. Over time, he was watched less carefully for signs of taint, and the new recruits were not given the training, to see if this would make the grey wardens stronger.  
Years passed without incident. Now one of the head grey wardens, Deslin lead a group of young grey wardens out to an opening near the dark roads, a standard mission to drive back the darkspawn. It would take them far from Weisshaupt, but they had provisions for the long journey. When they did not return, a search party was sent out for them. They found them, some 6 months later. There are several reports of what they found, varying in content, but the gist seems to be that the search party found a group of creatures, animalistic and tainted. At first they thought this was a new breed of darkspawn, but then they saw their leader. It was Deslin, laughing, covered in blood. The enemy were only few, but they fought like demons, and the search party had to fall back. It was another month before they could gather reenforcements, and the battle was fierce. Blood soaked the ground, and they only just managed to drive into the enemy camp. There they found piles of bodies, woman and children desecrated, men half eaten. There were people in cages, missing eyes and legs, fingers and tongues, half crazed from the torments they endured. Deslin had apparently kidnapped the local people, and subjected them to unspeakable things, the new wardens following him in his terrible decent. They tried to capture him for proper trial, but in the end had to cut him down him like a rabid dog, when it became apparent that he would not be taken alive.  
We do not talk of what occurred there, and the records are hazy upon the fate of the villagers who survived Deslin's carnage. They were probably put out of their misery, to protect the reputation of the grey wardens, though it saddens me to think that such action was necessary. We have learnt hard lessons from the past.  
From then, grey wardens were collected in fortresses, not only to make sure that the training was delivered in every instance, but also so that we could be vigilant of each other.  
No-one has been watching Aedan, save for yourself. I fear only you can convince Aedan to come to Weisshaupt, and I impress upon you the importance of this. It will not be long before they mobilise a unit of grey wardens to travel to Antiva, to kill Aedan to prevent history repeating itself. I would not wish such a fate upon one who has helped end a blight, but we cannot risk the taint overcoming Aedan. The grey warden reputation is in tatters as it is.  
I leave Aedan's fate in your hands, and trust that we will see the hero of Ferelden in Weisshaupt shortly.  
Yours, Marcel **

Zevran lowered the paper, folding it neatly. Placing it upon the table, he watched as Aedan, seemingly blind to the fact the elf had finished reading. The Cousland was prowling, so pent up his displeasure was almost palatable. If he needed proof that Aedan was in the grip of the taint, the look in his eyes, hard and dark would have been enough. Not that Zevran needed further proof.

He cared for Aedan, allowing him closer than any other into his life. He would have not joined in the fight against an archdemon if he did not. The gift of an earring, a token of the affection he was unable to express, had been given to Aedan in leiu of proclaiming love in the normal manner, but then, Zevran was hardly normal.

He'd heard the word 'love' in the whorehouse often enough for it to lose all meaning, instead warping into a parody of fidelity. Then the crows taught him that love was a liability. It made assassins slow and susceptible, a poison to the profession. Love would get you killed, surer than any toxin, and far more painful. Rinna had compounded that belief, her death showing Zevran that he had no right to allow someone close to him, he was simply too dangerous. A poison in himself.

He had been more than reluctant to let Aedan break apart his defenses, one by one, soft words and respect and tenderness undoing him from the inside. Aedan Cousland had been strong when facing down their enemies, but in the sanctuary of his tent at night, he had drawn upon Zevran to comfort him. That had been what had made the assassin realise the extent of his feelings, when he knew that he would do anything for the man, even at his own risk.

Like the whorehouse declarations of love, Aedan seemed warped now, the voice that had uttered such words of adoration quieted. It was getting harder not to resent his possessive nature, the way he laid claim to Zevran like a common slave. He still needed Zevran, still longed for the comfort of his company, but Aedan gave the impression that he would take what Zevran would not give.

Zevran would have walked out to the docks and thrown down his life for Aedan, had the nobleman permitted. He could not stand however, and be treated like an servant by one he pledged his every allegiance to. The crows saw him as an object, he could not bare if Aedan also perceived him a mere possession.

He sighed, softly, and got up from the chair. In short graceful steps he came up to Aedan, who turned.

"Well? What did Marcel want?"

"Nothing actually. It was a letter of information, rather than request. A history lesson, of sorts. You can read it later, should you wish. First though, I would ask you something. What am I to you? You say I cannot leave your side, but why?"

Brows pulled together in a frown as Aedan looked at Zevran, shifting himself to something less like a guard stance.

"You, of all people, seeking pointless endearments? This doesn't seem like you Zev..."

"I want no endearments if they are not true. Don't you see? I.. I care very much for you, Aedan Cousland, but I need to know if you feel the same towards myself. You did, once... I have no doubt about that, but do your feelings remain?"

Aedan breathed heavily, as Zevran searched his eyes for an answer too slow in coming from his lips. Zevran's questioning set his blood pounding within his skull.  
"What more do you want of me, have I not vowed to protect you? Am I not providing for you? Did I not just face off against the Antivan crows for your behalf?"

"True, on all accounts. But why?"

"Because you are **mine**."

Zevran took a quick breath that seemed to catch in his throat. He stepped backwards, his face crumpling as his mouth downturned.

"I may have proclaimed that I was yours, but I fear that you see me as an object to be owned, rather than a lover. Rather than a partner. Do you not see that?"

He did not move, but Aedan's entire body tensed as he realised the truth of what Zevran was saying.

"Zev... I.. you mean more to me than any object. I would say it more elegantly if I knew how... I want you near me, is that not love? To do anything to stay together?" his voice seemed small, almost pleading.

"Not always... Sometimes love is being able to let someone go, for their happiness rather than yours."

"That I cannot do." the edge to Aedan's voice returned. "You know the taint inside me, and that I am fighting it, but it is getting harder. If you were to go, I would have no reason to go on resisting. I would lose control, and the rage would take me. I would hate you for it, and try to seek you out. I think you would suffer then. So for both our sakes, you have to stay."

Zevran's golden eyes were devoid of emotion as he met Aedan's, his posture rigid.

"It would seem I have no choice."

He turned on his heel, going to his room, trying not to show that inside, he felt that his world had collapsed.

* * *

"Zevran?" and a knock. Aedan had not knocked before.

"Come in."

Zevran was sitting at the table, sharpening his daggers upon a whetstone to wicked edges. Beside him, a series of small bottles of dangerous looking fluids. He had delved into the work of preparing for battle, in efforts to shed the feelings of hopelessness he felt after speaking with Aedan. Aedan sat down on the bed, his sword hanging on his belt and having to be shifted to one side to allow him to sit comfortably.

"I have something to show you." he said, and slowly, Zevran turned. Aedan held out his hand, palm up. Laying on the skin, was an earring.

Zevran cocked his head to the side. "That is... not the earring I gave you." he said slowly, looking to Aedan for explanation.

"I know." Aedan curled his fingers around the piece of jewelry. "The one you gave me is at the bottom of the lake, somewhere near Redcliffe. When you left after we defeated the blight, I threw it away as I traveled to Highever. I was so mad at you, for deserting me, I could not bare to have such a reminder. Later, I regretted it, and scoured Amerantine looking for a replacement. This was as close as I could find... "

"I am touched you thought so much of my gift as to throw it away..." Zevran crossed his arms, his tone icy.

Aedan shook his head, his hair falling out of place as he leant forwards, touching his hand upon the arm of Zevran's chair. "That's not why I am telling you this. Thing is, I do stupid things when I get angry, stupid hurtful things. I do not want to hurt you Zevran. I got this earring to remember you by, because we have something between us. Something that pulled us both through the blight. Something stronger than the taint."

He had brushed his hair back while he worked on his blades, and so without his usual wisps of blonde he was able to look at Aedan, nothing standing in the way of their eyes. There **was** something there, underlining the anger and the taint. Zevran felt his fears ebbs away, and knew that Aedan returned his affections.  
Aedan smiled, and gathered Zevran in an almost crushing embrace, nodding against his hair as Zevran in turn clasped his arms around the grey warden's body.  
Zevran held tightly, then carefully pushed Aedan away, before the rising lust in his chest got the better of him.  
"Come. We have preparations to make for tomorrow's unwanted guests."


	12. Chapter 12

**italics are in Antivan, and you have my thanks for reading.**

"We have some things on our side. One, this is a house we both know, and though it is not the best suited for combat, we can make changes to block any arrows or darts, and lay wires to slow the crows."

Aedan and Zevran were sat at the table, the afternoon sun hanging lazily in the sky, readying themselves for the Antivan crows to descend upon them tomorrow. Zevran was counting off their advantages, making mental notes about how they should lay the table to best defect any ranged weaponry, and where the wires would be best placed. Aedan, his strength laying in his sword and straight forward fighting and not the finer points of trapping and plotting, nodded and listened intently.

"Two, I know the crow tactics, and can advise you how best to beat them. Make sure your felled enemy is not playing dead, and keep your focus. Do not let them distract you, do not let them provoke you into anger. Use the length of your sword to your advantage, they will have to get closer with daggers or short swords. You know how I fight, you know how to best me in a duel. Crows do not work well together in general, it is hard to trust someone who might backstab you. We can use that, counting on that, if one darts forwards, there will probably not be someone covering their exposed back."

The elf took a breath, then continued; "Three, they want me alive... That means they won't try to any magic blasts, or anything that risks killing me outright when they would prefer to take me for torture."

Aedan's eyebrow raised, as Zevran causally spoke of his impending torture should they fail. Zevran did not react, making a conscious effort to appear calm to help settle Aedan's temperamental moods.

"Four, Alonzea is new to crow command. He will not have time to earn proper loyalty. Nor put enough fear into his underlings to ensure their devotion. If we can kill him, the other crows will hopefully flee. No point in risking your life fighting if your master is not alive to see. I am not sure how he fights however, so be ready for anything." Bridging his fingers together, zevran settled back in the chair.

"Those seem almost optimistic." Aedan remarked, hand resting around his sword hilt.

"I have not yet got to the things against us." Zevran started to count off on his other hand, voice grim but objective. "One, we will be outnumbered. Two, the crows have the city, so we cannot count upon the local police or populace for help. If anything, they will side with the crows, out of fear. Three, we do not know when they will strike. They may wait a day to try our nerves, and deprive us of sleep. Four, they will use poison. You must try not to let them cut you, and that means you should wear armor. I know it is hot, but you must try to tolerate it."

Aedan cursed quietly under his breath, but nodded.

"Finally, the crows are not stupid. They will use any advantage, press any weakness. They are organised, brutal and highly trained."

"Zevran, we have fought an army of rampaging darkspawn, we can beat these feathery foes."

Zevran sighed, and rested his head in his hands, "Even if we do fight them back, we will have to leave. We are too vulnerable here. I suggest we lay our traps, and then pack our bags. Do you have enough coin on you to give Luinet her severance pay? I will go and deliver it tonight, and dismiss her formally. It would not do for her to come wandering in during such a brawl."

"I have coin enough, but you should not go out, the crows will be waiting. She comes in the morning, we can give her what pay she is owed then. You said yourself that they will try to wait us out..."

Zevran shifted uncomfortably, he did not like the idea of putting Luinet at risk, but Aedan had a point. It would be far worse for him to stick his head out the door. He gave a brisk nod, and then got up from his chair.

"We sleep in the living room, away from the windows. Take turns so we are both rested. We take care with our water and food, as they might try to poison our supply. I will go out to the backyard, and start putting oil upon the tiles of the roof, and perhaps loosening a couple."

"Then I shall make dinner. There is some ham and potatoes in the pantry I can boil."

Zevran winced internally at the Ferelden cooking mindset of boiling everything to mush, but forced a smile anyway. As he was about to leave our the back door, he paused, looking back to the grey warden.

"One last thing. I would not have you make any silly sacrifices for my sake. If the battle seems lost, you should try and escape. They will be focused upon myself, and you can probably get yourself to a port and leave before they try to track you down."

Aedan smiled then, "Then I'd better make sure we are victorious, because I will not leave you. Surely you know that by now."

"Yes," somewhat sadly, "Yes I know."

* * *

Aedan and Zevran slept in leather armor, their weapons within easy reach. It was barely morning when the door broke apart, splintering with the force of a kick. Within seconds they were both on their feet, Zevran ducking behind the table tipped to the side, Aedan standing near one of the bedroom doors, taken off its hinges and propped up against a water jug.

Alonzea strode in, and was followed by seven assassins that Zevran could count, though he guessed there to be more outside and by the windows. There was a short cry from outside, and the sound of breaking bones as a hapless apprentice found one of his greased tiles and fell to the courtyard. Alonzea did not appear to hear the sound. He regarded Zevran as if the elf was a distasteful painting, or a bad smell in the air.

"_Ah, the infamous Zevran, you have decided at last to show your face. You have one last chance to turn yourself over, and we'll execute you now, quick and clean." _

_"Tempting as that is, I think I might just stay over here, and you can __**try**__ to claim me." _

Alonzea made a gesture, and the female assassin from before came forward, mouth twisted in spite and malice. "And what of you Ser Ferelden? You still want to keep Zevran in your company? Alonzea is prepared to offer 600 gold for it, as well as supply you with another elven pet. Name your taste, and we will provide."

Zevran gave a quick glance to Aedan, to ensure he was not rising to the bait dangled before him. A brief paranoia swept him, would Aedan in fact prefer an elven slave to break?

"Aedan, do not answer. Do not listen." Zevran whispered. Aedan, thankfully, remained emotionless, eyes fixed upon Alonzea.

The female was about to speak further, probably relaying a prepared script designed to enflame Aedan's temper, when the Cousland noble cut in.

"You have one chance, and one chance only to get out of my home. Else, you should prepare yourselves for death." Aedan hardly needed the female assassin's translation, even her mocking tone could not undo the sheer conviction in his voice, words of truth.

Zevran was surprised to notice one assassin back away, and slip out the door. Alonzea had a weak grasp upon these crows, it seemed, it did not bode well for him.

Alonzea did notice the departure however, and his eyes narrowed. He clapped his hands, and two more crows came through the door, holding a frantic Luinet between them. One had his hand over her mouth, the other pushing her arms up her back to an uncomfortable angle, making her stoop. Her eyes were watery, and wide with fear. They saw Aedan and Zevran, and glanced between them, pleading for help. She was handed to Alonzea, who in a practiced motion, grabbed her arm and pulled upwards, making her scream sharply in pain as she floundered in front of him.

The female assassin turned to Aedan, ignoring Zevran.

"We have a hostage. Reconsider, or we will slit her throat. Surely the great Hero of Ferelden would not let an innocent woman bleed for sake of an assassin..."

Zevran was glad that the female, no more than a girl really, spoke in Ferelden, to at least save Luinet from understanding. Luinet spoke in desperate mumbled sobs, alternatively begging Aedan and the Maker for deliverance..

"No." Aedan started to walk towards Alonzea, blinkered to the collection of crows around him, their weapons glinting in warning as they raised them.

Alonzea snarled, and quickly drew a blade, pressing silver against Luinet's neck, silencing her panicked gasps and pleas. She jerked as she gasped short scared lungfuls, but Alonzea's hold was strong.

"Aedan no! He is not bluffing, he will kill her!" Zevran nearly broke his cover, but as a dart whistled through the air and hit deep into the wood of the table he retreated, instead having to be satisfied with imploring Aedan to be careful for Luinet's sake.

As blood started to pool around the blade's edge, Luinet whimpered, struggling feebly in the crow commander's grip. Alonzea gave Aedan a pointed glare.  
_"Come no further. Or I will slice her.." _he hissed, as he realised just how close Aedan had managed to get, his sword held in front of him and steady.

"He means to kill her, Aedan, stop!" yelled Zevran, as Aedan took another step forward. With a fearsome exhalation, Alonzea drew the blade across Luinet's throat, the Antivan washer woman slumping in his arms. He tossed her down, expecting a moment's pause from Aedan to allow him to regain the advantage. Aedan however, continued forwards, even as Luinet's body was dumped at his feet. His sword slammed against Alonzea's side, the crow jerking in surprise as the cold metal cut into his flesh. The wound was not lethal, but as Aedan tore the sword from him, an angry red patch forming across his gut, the crows started their attack.

Zevran moved quickly, countering the dual blades aimed at Aedan's back, kicking at the assassin who had stepped over his tripwire but failed to notice how close that brought him to the elf. Aedan swung his sword, and it cut through a crow to reach Alonzea, where it dug deep into his chest. Alonzea fell to the ground, gurgling, but to intensive purposes dead. Zevran saw this, and as he fought off against the female assassin, started shouting.

_"The master is dead! You have a chance to live another day, and not as a crow should you wish." _

Zevran watched as shadows stopped advancing towards both Aedan and himself and instead peel away, disappearing into the city. He saw the female assassin he was engaged in combat with falter, considering, and brought his dagger hilt round to the back of her elbow, making her scream and retch at the same time, falling to her knees.

Aedan had laid down two more by then, and was about to cleave a substantial slice out of one trying to flee out a window when Zevran laid a hand upon his shoulder.

"It is over. We won..."

The grey warden followed the elf across the bloodied room, stopping to kick a fallen crow to make sure that it was dead, before coming to stand in front of the female assassin. Zevran's lower leg was bleeding, and the elf kept the weight off of it. Aedan raised his sword, but Zevran's hand again on his shoulder stilled him from taking the girl's head from her shoulders.

"Do not hurt her. I have an offer to make." Zevran said as he crouched, out of striking distance, but low enough that she could meet his eyes. His leg felt as if the blood within were on fire, but he ignored the pain as he addressed the female assassin.

_"Would you want to escape the crows? They are dead, and hold no future for you. But, if you are interested, I may have an alternative." _

_"Go on..." _she clutched her arm to her chest, her elbow likely shattered and the fragments of bone pressing against her nerves. That she was able to speak at all convinced Zevran in his plan.

_"I can secure you a recommendation letter to the Queen of Ferelden. Your grasp of the language is good, and you are obviously capable. I can feel the poison upon your dagger working in my leg, so I know you have that knowledge. The queen will have need of a food taster, and I feel you would be perfect for the posting. It would pay well, and you would be far enough away from Antiva that you would not have to worry about the crows seeking you out." _

Zevran lowered himself to the ground then, and took his eyes from the female assassin. The girl looked at Zevran, wide-eyed as he cut into his own leg, bleeding the poison out. He glanced up, and smiled warmly; "_Well?" _

_"I... I would be grateful..." _she sounded unsure, as if she thought Zevran might retract the offer and slit her throat anyway.

"_Excellent." _Zevran turned to Aedan, who was watching and listening, but not quite following the conversation. "Aedan, would you write this young lady a letter of recommendation. I think she would fit in well in Anora's court, and surely the queen would have use of a food taster?"

Aedan blinked, slowly, then turned his room. He brought supplies to write the letter, brows furrowed as he tried to fathom Zevran's new plottings.

Once finished, and the ink dry, he handed the letter over. Zevran scanned it, and held it out to the female assassin. The girl took it carefully, and gave a quick bow, before staggering from the house, at as fast a pace as she could manage. The stink of blood high in the air, no other crows seemed to have lingered. Zevran took a deep breath, the feeling returning to his leg. As he started to wrap a piece of bandage around it, he looked to Aedan.

"You look at me as if I have lost my mind. There has been enough life lost this day, I thought to try and spare her. I figured that if we gave the young lady a chance and a purpose, she might actually thrive. A food taster is quite an admirable role, and a knowledge of the poisons that could be used will be useful to her. If she works hard, I think she will do well, and if Anora does not trust in your letter, well, at least we gave her a chance at a life beyond the crows. And if the young miss might take it into her head to poison Anora personally... there is no great loss..."

"You are a devious creature, I am glad to have you on **my** side." Aedan smirked, then halted as he watched Zevran limp over to where Luinet had fallen. Aedan sheathed his sword, and saw Zevran kneel by Luinet's body, picking up her hand and holding it against his chest.

"Poor woman.." he said quietly, stroking her hand.

Aedan waited, but Zevran did not seem willing to let go. He tapped a foot, as a reminder that they should vacate the premises as soon as possible. Zevran glanced up, glaring.

"You did not even hesitate as he held a knife to her neck..."

"You said yourself, the crows are merciless. They would use any advantage. I decided to not let them use her against me." Aedan was frank, and sure of himself, no trace of remorse.

"But she... she is dead. We could have at least tried to stop them hurting her..."

"Zevran. They were going to fight us. They were going to **torture **you, if they did not kill you first. Why are you bothered about the stupid cleaning lady?"

"Because you are not." Zevran watched as Aedan gave an angry grunt and went to collect their bags, which were packed and ready. He slowly lowered Luinet's hand, and used his fingertips to close her eyes, pulling her lids over the look of stark disbelieve fixed upon her face.


	13. Chapter 13

They'd found passage traveling in the back of a wagon, deciding not to use the local port in an effort to hide their trail from any crows willing to try and confront them. Zevran would have tried to reassure Aedan that the crows would surely give up, but he'd been mistaken about the lengths the crows would pursue him once already, and it had cost Luinet her life.

The guilt he felt for her death was not easily dismissed. He had liked her, found her brave and strong, and had enjoyed talking with her as he had made bread and she mopped floors. She had been careful and considerate in her work, and had managed to see beyond his past as an assassin, and he had never felt any hint of hatred for his blood. If it not for her down to earth manner, he would have found coping with Aedan's mood swings much more trying. He was no novice when it came to death, even death of the people close to him, but something in Luinet's passing seemed unreal, like a fade dream. He suspected it was that he still could not believe Aedan to be so cold as to keep walking towards the crow commander, even as Alonzea had gripped the dagger and started to puncture the flesh of her neck.

Aedan Cousland had grown up a nobleman, and had always held a certain aloofness when talking to people without title or land deeds. He would listen to them, even help on occasion, and deny any reward. There was something in the way he stood before them however, sure and stalwart, that let everyone know their place. Zevran had assumed it an act, designed to reassure and inspire confidence. Now, he found it hard to recall if Aedan had ever used Luinet's name when talking to or about her.

The impatient way he had stood, waiting for Zevran to finish morning her, not a hint of regret that she had died in a fight that was not hers, these things prayed upon the assassin's mind. He wanted, more than ever, to have Aedan at least meet with the grey wardens, so as to get a definite answer. Was it the taint that made him so callous towards human life, or simply his nobleman upbringing?

The clattering of wooden wheels and the intermittent nicker of the horse pulling the wagon made sleep difficult during the day, and both were weary. They headed down the coast, the shade of the canvas over the frame ineffective to combat the Antivan heat. Aedan sat by the back of the wagon, trying to catch the brief ocean breeze, while Zevran had sat himself upon the cargo of crates of spices and dried fish.

"So, we get to a different port, then secure travel on a ship. where to next?" Aedan had draped himself over the edge, his hand hanging down as he tried to keep cool.

"I was thinking perhaps Weisshaupt...?"

Aedan had read Marcel's letter, and afterwards declared that he disliked the man even more. Zevran had been too busy affixing wires to the walls, so was not able to give a full defence at the time. Here, with the both of them tired and tense, did not seem a good time to press the issue, but they did not have much time before they would reach port and have to make a decision to their destination. He decided to address Aedan's darkening glare with his reasoning.

"I thought I had managed to get out from under the wing of the crows, as it were, but I was wrong. You are a great warrior, and I an assassin of exceptional quality, but we are only two. Crows, even with their wings clipped, seem to not be easy to escape from. Grey wardens, I would imagine, are even more persistent. I think Marcel was serious when he mentioned a force of grey wardens would be sent out to destroy you. And they will be relentless. Perhaps it would be less stressful to just meet them head on at Weisshaupt."

"We could travel... keep moving." There was a vagueness that Zevran did not wish to trust his entire future on.

"That is not a life, that is just a delaying tactic. Why are you so against Weisshaupt?"

"Why are you so insistent upon it?"

"Marcel has given you an open, honest offer of help. Perhaps the grey wardens can finally do you some good, instead of demanding near-impossible feats of heroism. And... you cannot deny that you are struggling... Sometimes, it does not seem like you are in full control... You let Luinet die, and did not even bat an eye in grief. Perhaps the grey wardens can help, let you find your compassion again..."

"I do not need compassion." Aedan scoffed.

"Your humanity then.. It seems lacking." Zevran voice had lowered, and he made sure his dagger was close to hand. He did not think that Aedan would try to hit out, but he found he could no longer be sure of the grey warden.

Aedan straightened, and gave Zevran a disapproving stare, seeing the slender fingers touch upon the handle of his dagger. He knew the elf well enough to see when he felt threatened.

"If I go to Weisshaupt, the grey wardens will likely decide I am some abomination of some sort, and execute me within an hour of entering the keep."

"They would do such a thing to one of their own? Even if you were to go to them for help?"

Aedan folded his arms, and cast his eyes to the floor. "Did I ever tell you of my joining? They give you a glass of darkspawn blood, mixed up with Maker knows what else. Then they tell you to drink. There were three of us, and I was the only one to survive. The first, he died gasping and clutching at his throat, as the blood overwhelmed him. The second, Jory, had a wife with child. He saw the first die, and tried to refuse, wanting to live to become a father. He was executed in front of me, dying on Duncan's sword for the sake of the grey wardens and their secrets. The grey wardens are merciless when it comes to their own survival, and I put them at risk. Putting my head on a pike outside their wall would solve the problems they have at Highever, as well as probably get them into Anora's good graces. You can see why I am a little reluctant to go marching to my death."

Zevran was shocked, and found it difficult to believe that Duncan, who Alistair had always spoke of in the highest regard, was the same man who would kill someone for not willingly taking a cup of death. Yet, everything Marcel had said confirmed the lengths that the grey wardens were willing to delve to to protect themselves. No wonder then, that the grey wardens walked with such a air of inevitable demise, when they were charged with keeping such secrets.

"I would not let them harm you." Zevran said, hand now on the hilt of his dagger, metal pressing into his palm. Normally he felt reassured when he held his weapons, knowing that he was armed and able. Somehow, the dagger seemed useless when pitted against the taint inside Aedan, and the nobleman's reluctance to allow himself to be helped. Not for the first time, Zevran wondered if he was keeping Aedan from the one thing that might save him.

"If you are so willing to fight for me, why so determined to send me away to Weisshaupt? How will you defend me on the other side of the stone walls? They are not going to let a non-warden into their fortress. They are secretive, remember." Aedan's voice was just a little heated, his posture tense.

Zevran steeled himself, "I would fight for the Aedan I once knew, but I fear I am losing him. Your ways are different now, and I cannot say I think you are changing for the better. I would defend you with my life Aedan, but I cannot stand and watch you sink so low. I am frightened, of what you might become if you do not act. I am frightened that if you delay, there may be nothing left to save... For your own sake Aedan, you must go to the grey wardens."

Aedan's face twisted, and he shifted so that he faced the assassin. Teeth flashed, angry and fierce as he spoke, almost spitting the words. "You would abandon me again, this time to the mercy of the grey wardens. I should have known better than to trust an assassin... You could never love anyone but yourself!"

The accusation made him flinch, and the elf had to bow his head to escape the hurt in Aedan's stare. In a voice, quiet and trembling, he said: "Sometimes love is letting someone one go..."

There was no space to escape to in the wagon, as Aedan brought himself up to Zevran. One hand, tight around his wrist stopped the dagger coming up in defence, pinning it painfully into the elf's side. The other caught Zevran's free hand as it tried to jab at Aedan's throat, retching it upwards. The weight of Aedan baring down on him made the crates beneath him creak, and Zevran could not move away as Aedan pressed his face close, filling his vision with the deep dark eyes and snarling face.

"Then I know what I have to do... to keep you with me. Forever." 


	14. Chapter 14

As Aedan walked into Weisshaupt, he was greeted with a reverent silence. His every step spoke of the power and might that could end a blight, his manner stern but strong. He carried a bag over his shoulder, and though his armor was muddied from the road, he seemed to have no difficulty in managing the weight. The grey wardens watched as he strode in past the great wooden gates, all the clatter of the yard stilled as they laid eyes upon the man they had heard so much about. Then they saw the elf following in Aedan's shadow.

If the grey wardens walked as if under a death sentence, the elf walked as already dead. His head was hung low, his steps meek and graceless. He bore all the marks of a truly broken in slave, and as they made their way into the main building, all eyes followed them. Some grey wardens were horrified to see such a slave, while others recognised the dark lines upon the elf's cheeks from the bard's songs.

Marcel raced down the stairs to greet Aedan, caught completely be surprise at the messenger's statement that Aedan had arrived. It had hardly been a week since he himself had returned to Weisshaupt,and he had deliberately taken his time, in no hurry to deliver the news of his failure to bring Aedan Cousland with him. He pulled his tunic straight as he walked up, delighted to see the hero of Ferelden had returned to the grey wardens.

"We have traveled hard. Show me to our room." Aedan's voice was deeper, and Marcel only then realised that Zevran was standing behind the nobleman. At least, he thought it was Zevran. This poor creature bore no resemblance to the confident elf he had met before, his eyes fixed upon the floor, and dull. It shocked him to see the elf in such a state, and he quickly led Aedan to the nearest guest quarters, barking out orders for one of the permanent residence rooms to be prepared. As he closed the door to grant them some privacy, he found the familiar fear when dealing with Aedan Cousland seize his gut.

"Aedan, much as I am pleased you have decided to come to Weisshaupt... We do not allow.. er... 'squires'..."

Aedan was calm as he stood, watching Marcel desperately try to dredge up words that would not offend. "This is not a squire. He is my servant, and I will not be parted from him." Marcel saw that Zevran was not reacting to the conversation, and he held up both his hands, confused and desperate.

"I am sorry, but we cannot allow an outsider to stay within the fortress..."

"He will be no trouble, that I can assure you..." Aedan then turned, and with a finger raised Zevran's chin upwards, his thumb stroking against the side of his face in a gesture that was anything but tender. It spoke of control, and Aedan looked over his shoulder, seemingly pleased that he could show Marcel how little bother Zevran would be. He turned back, watching as Zevran looked back with empty eyes.

"You will pose no threat to the grey wardens and their secrets." A statement, rather than a query. "After all, what are you?"

"I am yours." The words were flat, not even sad, and Marcel felt his toes curl to see the elf reduced to this shell of a person.

He gathered his courage, stepping forwards as Aedan let Zevran's head lower. He searched the elf's face for something, anything, that would show him a glimpse of the Antivan assassin. "Maker's blood Aedan... What did you **do **to him...?" he breathed.

"I taught him his place. He will remain at my side, forever." The Cousland noble stood tall and imposing, with no sign of guilt. Marcel paled slightly, seeing Zevran a mere shadow of the elf he met in Antiva. He gave a small nod, and started towards the door, needing to get out the room.

"I will send someone when your room is ready... You can rest here until then. I will return later, once you have had a chance to settle." Years of practice and training kept his tone civil, as he closed the door. He left, the air suddenly too thick, and the implications of Aedan's actions bearing down on him. He had to hold a hand against the stone wall for support once he'd managed to get down the corridor, and he prayed to the maker that they were not too late to help Aedan. Though he feared that they were already much too late to save Zevran.

* * *

As he listened to Marcel's quick footsteps fade, Aedan turned to Zevran, who stood in the middle of the room. He gave a slow smile as he wrapped the elf into a tight embrace.

Zevran grinned back, letting the emotionless mask slip, and draped his arms over Aedan's shoulders, pressing a gentle kiss against the grey warden's cheek. "I almost feel sorry for Marcel, the poor man looked as if his heart might stop. You can be quite scary when you put your mind to it, dear Aedan..."

"I needed him to believe. He will convince the others on the council, and if he is full of fear, they be more willing to listen. Yhey will agree that I need the training, and that you will not sneak about assassinating anyone. I am afraid that you will have to keep up the facade though, at least until they get used to the idea of that you will be staying. You don't mind?"

Zevran laughed, "As long as I can keep my face straight when Marcel looks at me with such horror, I will continue to play the part of a subdued servant. It is rather amusing. So long as you do not actually expect me to polish your boots, or wash your socks, or other such drudgery!"

Aedan gave a soft squeeze, and bent his head to kiss the crown of Zevran's head, hot breath wafting over his blond hair. Zevran let his hand wander down, over the metal armor and gave a playful tap against the hard plate over Aedan's rear. A wolfish gleam filled Aedan's features, as he gave Zevran a nudge towards the bed. Light on his feet, Zevran walked backwards, and helped in unbuckling the armor from Aedan, letting the pieces fall to the floor as they neared the single mattress. The simple tunic Zevran wore was easier to remove, and it too was tossed to the floor as Aedan crawled onto the bed, Zevran beneath him, hands stroking and caressing the revealed skin.

Knuckles brushed over his nipple, and as Zevran's heated kissed peppering the skin around his neck, Aedan looked down at the assassin, eyes soft and full of adoration. That Zevran had been prepared to join him in this charade, despite the demeaning role he would have to take on, meant everything to him. It had convinced him to come to Weisshaupt, that if Zevran was willing to make such a sacrifice, he could surely face up to the taint within him, and learn how to contain it.

Zevran lifted his head from the bed and gave Aedan a little nip on the side of his neck, as he kicked off his trousers. Seeing that the assassin had already removed a vial of oil from the pocket and held it in his hands, fingers tight in anticipation, Aedan pressed down, letting his weight settle on the elf. His arousal was trapped between their bodies and growing unbearably hot, and he closed his mouth over Zevran's and kissed slow and deep and tender. Zevran gave a brief gasp as Aedan shifted, a hand running over his buttocks, fingernails lighting running along the smooth curve and sleek muscle. The other hand plucked the oil from his fingers, and Aedan used his teeth to remove the cork. He slicked his entire palm, rubbing the oil over his fingers before resealing the vial and tossing it to the floor.

As his hand glided down, rubbing against Zevran's rear and making the elf arch into the caress, Aedan delved again for a kiss. A single finger pressed lightly against Zevran's entrance, skimming over the sensitive skin, making little circle patterns before starting to push inside. Zevran writhed as Aedan passed the tight muscle ring, and Aedan slipped his tongue deep into his mouth, swallowing the little moans of pleasure the elf allowed to escape as Aedan carefully probed deeper. Zevran's hips surged forwards as Aedan's finger touched against the nerves that set his nerves tingling, and with a sly grin, Aedan repeated the action, marveling at the way Zevran's pupils dilated as he revealed in the sensations.

Lithe arms stretched upwards, and Zevran ran his set set of fingernails down the ridges of Aedan's spine, causing the grey warden to pant heavily. He gave his finger a last twist to relax the muscles, before carefully stroking against his own manhood, making sure it was slippery with oil before he touched it against Zevran's rear. He touched a hand to Zevran's leg, and after Zevran gave a quick nod of agreement, lifted it so that Zevran's heel was behind his head, the calf resting on Aedan's board shoulders. He clutched the other leg at the knee to his side, Zevran wide open and willing, his lust too strong now to wait.

He plunged in, a groan as he felt Zevran compress around him, hot and tight and the elven member in front of him shuddering. Blond hair falling loose from his braids, Zevran's head had tipped back as far as he could manage, breathing noisily through his teeth, golden eyes fixed on Aedan. The grey warden started to pull back, then press forwards again, Zevran's whole body moving in time with the thrusts. Aedan fought to keep his pace slow, instead concentrating on sinking deep into Zevran with every push, watching his lover as the elf gasped with the intensity. Zevran matched his rhythm, and started to roll his hips, smiling wickedly as he jerked suddenly and brought Aedan to completion. As he felt the fire of their passion fill him, and Aedan's low growl of satisfaction, Zevran allowed himself to release.

They had to untangle limbs and stained sheets from themselves, but soon both where laying on the bed, the lack of space meaning Zevran was practically on top of Aedan. Resting his head against his chest, a finger drawing lazy swirls up and down his neck and torso, Zevran twisted to look at Aedan. The grey warden was smiling, eyes half closed as he basked in the company of his handsome assassin.  
"To the gates of the black city..." Zevran breathed softly, as Aedan fell fast asleep.

The End

**thank you for reading, hope you enjoyed this story as much as i did writing it. i am relieved it has a happy ending, for the longest time i could not figure out how both main characters were going to surivive the tale. my thanks to everyone who took the time to leave a review. Doxx**

Darker than the Black City Playlist

darker with the day - nick cave

slide - goo goo dolls

stuck in a moment - u2

mr brightside - the killers

its all coming back to me now - meat loaf

when i argue - idlewild

i'll stand by you - the pretenders

jaded - aerosmith

mountains - biffy clyro


End file.
